


Come For Me

by Frayach



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Consensual Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, HP: EWE, Kink Exploration, M/M, Trust, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 21:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frayach/pseuds/Frayach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Draco is paralyzed in an accident, he and Harry discover a new way to make love.  Please read Author's Notes!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come For Me

**Author's Note:**

> As you can tell by the tags, this is an extremely kinky story, but it's also more than that. There's a good old fashion love story under all the boundary-pushing kinky wrapping. You may think you’re squicked by “watersports,” but this is not your grandmother’s watersports kink fic; in fact, I’m even reluctant to call this a “kink fic” at all (although it definitely is very _very_ kinky). This is a romantic story that features a new way of making love when one of the partners has suffered a severe spinal cord injury and can no longer have a "traditional" orgasm. Until now, I’ve stayed away from reading and writing watersports fics because they so often involve humiliation, which I don’t like unless done exceedingly well. There is no humiliation in this story, only intense desire and a will to overcome any kind of adversity for the sake of love. *blushes at own sappiness  & hides under bed* So that's what the fic _is_. What it is _not_ is a "disability kink" fic. There is no fetishization of disability and no weird  & creepy sexualized power dynamics related to disability.
> 
> The LJ version is [HERE](http://hp-kinkfest.livejournal.com/103020.html).

Harry probably would’ve admitted to himself that he was gay anyway, but it might’ve taken several more years of losing erections with women and wanking guiltily to the magazines he kept in his old school trunk wrapped in his Invisibility Cloak. (When he wasn’t trying to pretend the magazines didn’t exist, he found it amusing that one of the Deathly Hallows was being used to hide a porn stash.) But then along came Ron and Pansy’s engagement party, and the universe booted his arse right out of the closet . . .

. . . and “straight” into Draco Malfoy’s waiting arms.

Malfoy hadn’t been coy about what he wanted. Just before midnight he’d followed Harry to the third-floor loo with its floral wallpaper and lavender tiles, shoved through the door before Harry could close it, and unbuttoned his shirt as Harry stood gaping at him. Before he’d realised what was happening, Malfoy was kissing him and clutching his arse with both hands and holding Harry’s groin tight against his own.

When Malfoy had stepped back after a minute, Harry (to his horror) almost whimpered like a bedraggled dog left out in the cold. But then Malfoy had slid his hand seductively down the path of his open shirt, stopping where his prick strained and bulged against his trousers. He began rubbing it with a deep moan before reaching even further between his legs to cradle his balls, kneading them with obvious pleasure and pride. 

“Potter,” he’d said, his voice low and sultry.

Harry had yanked his gaze away from Malfoy’s hand and met his eyes, blushing.

“I figured you’d be here, seeing as Weasley’s your best mate and all. I haven’t wanked in days in anticipation of coming in your arse. You and I have been dancing around the inevitable for months. The dance stops here. Tonight.”

Malfoy had dropped his gaze to his hand, and Harry’s own gaze followed involuntarily. They’d both watched Malfoy caress his own balls lovingly.

“They’re swollen and aching – just waiting for me to fuck you. They’ve never been so full and heavy, and I’m going to empty all of that spunk right in your arse. I’m going to fuck my balls dry and fill you up until there’s no more room and my come flows out of your arsehole and trickles down your thighs. Your body is going to be nothing more than the receptacle for my semen, Potter. I’m going to pump you full of it while you beg for more. No one else will _ever_ come in your arse like I’m going to tonight; no one will _ever_ be able to fill you up like I will. You’ll try to find balls as full of come as mine, but you won’t be able to. You’ll never forget me.”

Circes’ cunt! Malfoy was beyond bold – and his mouth was beyond filthy. This time Harry hadn’t been able to hold back his whimper as Malfoy’s words travelled from his brain, down his spine, straight to his cock. Malfoy was right after all; they really had been trying to seduce each other for what seemed like forever. They probably could’ve won first place in an eye-fucking tournament.

Without removing his hand from between his legs, Malfoy had moved closer to Harry and kissed him again, thrusting his tongue into Harry’s mouth in a preview of what he obviously intended to do with another part of his body.

“I’m going to come inside you, Potter,” Malfoy had whispered possessively against Harry’s ear, “and then I’m going to suck your brains out through your dick.”

The metaphor hadn’t been particularly appealing, but its meaning was. As a result, Harry’s protestations had been less than convincing.

“Shut it,” Malfoy murmured into his mouth. 

Despite his aggressive tone, Malfoy hadn’t fucked Harry that night; he’d made love to him. Harry had never had anal sex before, but even without anything to compare it to, he’d known Malfoy was making love to him. He’d slid his prick into Harry’s arse so slowly and carefully that Harry felt every inch of it opening him, filling him.

“Wanted this so much,” Malfoy had said with a gutted groan as his balls finally pressed against Harry’s. Even in his over-stimulated state, Harry had recognised why Malfoy had seemed so proud of them; they were heavy and full and swung to meet Harry’s with every thrust.

He’d cradled Harry’s face in his hands, dropping kisses on his lips and cheeks and forehead and throat as he rocked his hips, moaning when Harry arched his back and wrapped his legs around his waist. Malfoy had used a lot of lube, and the sounds that’d resulted from their coupling were squelchy like someone in wellies trudging through a bog. They’d driven Harry mad and made him wanton like Ginny had been the one time he’d stayed hard long enough to fuck her to orgasm.

Malfoy’s arse was just as perfect as Harry had known it would be; its muscles flexed under Harry’s hands with every thrust. He hadn’t been able to wrap his head around the fact that they were having sex, and he hadn’t cared. All that’d mattered was Malfoy’s weight pressing him against the floor, his hips thrusting between his thighs, and his wet open-mouthed kisses on his skin. And his words . . . oh, God, his words.

“Gonna come in you,” Malfoy grunted. “I’m going to make you mine. I’m going to come so far up your arse you’re going to be able to taste it . . . My balls ache so much . . .”

It wasn’t that Harry didn’t understand the concept of wanting to come - of course he did! - but Malfoy had seemed obsessed with coming _inside_ him. He would’ve thought Malfoy would’ve wanted to come all over his face just for the humiliation factor. But Malfoy hadn’t seemed interested in humiliation; he’d seemed far more interested in planting his seed, so to speak. It was as though Harry was a girl he was trying to impregnate.

Too soon Malfoy had signalled the approach of his orgasm with a litany of expletives gasped into Harry’s ear punctuated by a groaned “please, God, not yet, _please_.” He’d tried to still his hips, but he clearly couldn’t.

“Coming, oh Christ, I’m _coming_ ,” he’d groaned and thrust into Harry’s arse as deep as he could, his body tense and trembling. He’d probably imagined it, but Harry was convinced he could feel Malfoy’s balls throb as Malfoy’s climax emptied them.

After a minute, Malfoy had withdrawn and sat back on his heels. Harry had stared, fascinated, at his wet, red, still-hard twitching prick, marvelling at the fact that it’d just been in his arse. Malfoy had stared back at him, looking equally awed as he cupped his balls in his hand as though appreciating how light they’d become after his orgasm.

The blowjob had been less gentle than the sex. Malfoy hadn’t wasted a second and swallowed Harry’s prick to the root, sucking noisily and tugging on his pubic hair. Harry’d had his cock sucked before, but never like that. Never with such conviction. Malfoy grasped the back of Harry’s thighs and pushed them toward his chest, and before Harry could register disappointment at the loss of Malfoy’s devoted mouth, his mind had shut down at the feeling of Malfoy’s tongue probing his arsehole with quick jabs between gasped breaths.

“God, your arse tastes so good full of my come,” he’d groaned when he’d lifted his flushed face from between Harry’s legs and looked at him with dark, sex-drunk eyes.

And then he’d said the words that’d pushed Harry over the edge.

“Come for me,” Malfoy demanded before returning to sucking his prick. “Come for me, Harry James Potter.”

Harry’s back had snapped off the floor as he came with a shouted plea that he’d been unable to remember afterward. He’d clutched Malfoy’s head and thrust the last of his orgasm down Malfoy’s throat until Malfoy had pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand with a smirk on his face that looked more pleased with himself than disdainful of Harry.

They hadn’t spoken as they dressed, but that’d been okay. The silence hadn’t been awkward, and Malfoy had taken his hands and kissed him covetously before leaving.

“I’m ready now,” he’d said when he pulled away. “Thank you.”

Harry had had no idea what he’d meant at the time, but when he saw the announcement of Malfoy’s engagement to Astoria Greengrass in the _Prophet_ two days later, he’d figured it out.

* * * *

It took a long time and several disappointed lovers before the sting of the unexpected wound became the ache of a fading bruise. Fortunately, the slow transformation was aided by the fact that Malfoy and his wife moved to France after their wedding, thus saving Harry from the distress that encountering him surely would’ve caused.

But years of not seeing Malfoy didn’t mean that Harry could forget him. Malfoy’s was the face he saw when he wanked; Malfoy’s were the hands he imagined touching him; Malfoy’s was the cock that fucked him in his dreams, and Malfoy’s was the voice that triggered his orgasms . . . 

_Come for me, Harry James Potter_.

Nonetheless, life went on. Harry rose through the ranks of the Aurors, eventually becoming Head of the DMLE. Hermione became Hogwarts’ Assistant Headmistress to McGonagall and Professor of Arithmancy. Ron and Pansy had twins. Teddy was made a Seeker for Gryffindor. Ginny married Dean and became a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Luna married Neville, and Kingsley Shacklebolt became the Minister of Magic. There were reunions and weddings and Christenings and parties and matches and charity dinners and holidays with the Weasleys. Harry sold Grimmauld Place, bought a flat, and dated and dumped a string of handsome blond men who hadn’t been able to replace the memory of the one man he really wanted – and feared he always would.

Then the accident happened.

It was entirely coincidental that he’d been there. When it started snowing Saturday evening, Harry decided to drive back to London rather than stay another night in the country with Neville and Luna. He doubted his hosts minded terribly much; he’d had a trying week at work and was in a foul mood. Luna’s eccentricities, which usually cheered him up, only made him more irritable. He suspected that what he needed was too much speed on too narrow roads and a few knuckle-whitening close calls.

He loved driving in the country – it was one of the reasons he spent most of his weekends with Hermione at Hogwarts or visiting his landowning friends. In the city, his 1965 red MGB Roadster was a coffee table replica, but everywhere else she was his one and only lady love. 

He put the top down and cast a stationary warming charm, which kept him from freezing but let his hair blow back in the wet wind. The snow clung to the branches and hedges but melted when it hit the road only to freeze again in a film of black ice. He didn’t realise just how treacherous the conditions were until he took a corner too fast and skidded into the other lane. Fortunately nobody was coming from the opposite direction, and he managed to avoid crashing into a stone wall with a shouted braking spell. It scared him enough to take his mind off planning how to break up with his latest lover. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the gear stick with the other, and let his foot hover over the clutch.

It was his increased vigilance that’d probably saved his life when he rounded another sharp corner and nearly collided with a burning car.

He slammed on the brake and drew his wand. As soon as he got out of his car, he slipped on the icy road and fell hard on his knees. It took too long before he could put out the fire, but the driver had probably died before he’d even got there. The spilled petrol made the raging flames nearly as hot as Fiendfyre.

Only after he quenched the fire, did he see there was a second car. It wasn’t burning, but it was upside down – crumbled and twisted and surrounded by a halo of shattered glass. Harry ran to it, praying he’d find its occupants still alive, but the first thing he saw was a woman whose hair was so soaked with blood that he couldn’t tell what colour it was. 

He was sure she was dead, but he freed her from the cage of twisted metal anyway and laid her on the ground. In the light of his _Lumos_ he recognised her instantly.

Astoria Malfoy’s blue eyes were open, but clearly sightless. 

And she was pregnant – _very_ pregnant.

Harry stared at her, his mind as blank and empty as a frozen lake before the realisation struck him.

She’d been in the passenger seat.

He didn’t waste the time it would take to stand and instead crawled through the broken glass until he could see Malfoy. He slashed at Malfoy’s seatbelt and pulled him through the glassless window, all the time calling him every name he could think of and shouting that if he was dead, Harry would kill him.

It was terrifyingly difficult to cast his Patronus – probably because one of the memories he used was Malfoy making love to him on the lavender tiles of Ron and Pansy’s third-floor loo. But at last he succeeded, and the Healers were there in minutes, shoving him aside and casting diagnostic and life-support spells on both Malfoy and his wife.

“I don’t think we can save the foetus, but Mr Malfoy’s alive,” one of them said.

“Barely,” another replied. “It looks like crushed vertebrae. The only question is how many and where.”

Harry stood several feet away, his arms wrapped around himself, trying to control his body’s shaking. He felt helpless in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Every now and then, he caught a glimpse of blood-streaked hair and the face that haunted his dreams, still and deathly pale.

Eventually one of the Healers stood and walked over to him.

“He’s going to live,” she said. “We’re going to Apparate him back to St Mungo’s as soon as we can find a way to insure his spine doesn’t get jostled. His wife’s dead though. And sadly so is the baby.”

Harry nodded, too numb to speak. The Healer put her hand on his shoulder.

“You’re in shock, Mr Potter,” she said. “Come with us. You shouldn’t be alone right now, and you definitely shouldn’t drive.”

Harry nodded again and pointed his wand at his Roadster. It took embarrassingly long to shrink it back to replica size. Someone had already Apparated with Astoria’s body. He pointed his wand at the Malfoys’ Mercedes and cast _Evanesco_ , leaving behind nothing but glass sparkling in the glow of the other car’s embers.

* * * *

Harry was beside him when Malfoy woke a week later. He’d only been there a few minutes when Malfoy’s eyelids fluttered weakly before opening to reveal familiar grey eyes.

“Potter,” he croaked as though it was entirely unremarkable that Harry was sitting at his bedside.

“Yeah.” 

It was all Harry could think to say.

Neither of them spoke for a long time after that. Malfoy blinked and looked around, obviously confused and disoriented. The only sounds were the quiet voices of nurses and the squeak of their shoes on the polished floors as they moved from room to room delivering meals and casting painkilling spells. 

Then Malfoy looked meaningfully at Harry’s glass of water.

“Thirsty.”

Harry closed his eyes. If Malfoy was going to drink, Malfoy had to sit up. If Malfoy tried to sit up, he’d realise that he couldn’t. He’d just regained consciousness; it seemed too soon . . . 

. . . too soon to tell him he’d never walk again.

“Potter,” Malfoy said irritably.

Harry opened his eyes. It shouldn’t be him. He should get a Healer or have a nurse firecall Malfoy’s mother. It didn’t seem right that a former schoolboy nemesis should be the one who told him he’d been paralysed from the waist down.

But then Malfoy tried to push himself up.

He struggled and struggled even when Harry tried to press him back down with soothing words. His eyes were wide and pleading as reality dawned on him.

“You’re in St Mungo’s,” Harry said. “There was an accident.”

Malfoy stared at him.

“You were injured,” Harry babbled. “I found you. The Healers did everything they could . . .”

“I can’t move.”

Harry bit his lip.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

Harry swallowed.

Malfoy stared at him, begging with his eyes for Harry to tell him it was going to be okay – that this was only temporary.

“I . . . I should get someone,” Harry said, standing up. He’d never been good at handling situations like this. But Malfoy’s hand shot out from under the sheets and grabbed his with surprising strength.

“Don’t you dare leave,” he rasped. 

But Harry wanted to . . . desperately.

“I should get your Healer,” he said. “She’ll be glad you’re awake.”

“Awake? How long have I been here?! Where’s Astoria?!”

“It’s okay, just a minute, I’ll go get . . .”

Malfoy squeezed his hand so hard that it hurt.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he hissed. “You’re going to answer my questions, and then you’re going to tell me what the hell you’re doing here.”

Harry exhaled a shaky breath. Malfoy’s eyes were fever-bright with emotion.

“You’ve been here a week,” he said. “Your wife . . . I mean, Astoria . . .”

He couldn’t continue. This was why the DMLE offered courses to specially train less bumbling Aurors than him how to deliver bad news to family members. He hadn’t a clue what to say or how to say it.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Harry couldn’t stand the way Malfoy’s heart bled into his voice or how his eyes, blazing and determined a minute ago, dimmed with grief. 

Harry nodded.

“And you were there.”

Harry nodded again.

“She’s dead.”

Harry didn’t bother to nod again.

“And I’m still alive.”

He glared at Harry with more hatred than Harry had ever seen in his eyes before – which was saying something.

“And it’s _your fault_ ,” Malfoy yelled. “You bastard! Why did you do this to me?!”

Harry gaped at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why didn’t you let me die with her?” Malfoy shouted at him. “Why did you force me to live like this?”

He gestured at his legs.

“I . . .”

But Malfoy’s glare strangled his throat.

“Is this some kind of sick revenge?”

Harry frowned. Sick revenge?

“Look, Potter, it was a one-time thing. Did you think we were going to get married or something? We fucked. Once. We weren’t even sober . . .”

Harry had no idea why he said it, after all it was unimportant in the face of everything else Malfoy had said, but still . . .

“ _I_ was sober,” he said quietly.

Malfoy stopped mid-tirade.

“Merlin’s wand,” he breathed. “It’s true then. You really _did_ do this to me . . .”

Harry didn’t know how to respond. Clearly Malfoy believed his own twisted logic. Every muscle in his face seemed to be working at once to find the right expression to convey the depth of the loathing and rage he was feeling.

“Where’s my wand?” he yelled. “Give me my fucking wand! I don’t care that _Avada Kedavra_ ’s an Unforgivable. You’re a dead man walking, Potter!”

He struggled again to sit up until his forehead was beaded with sweat. Harry wasn’t even trying to stop him anymore; he was drowning in a foreign sea in a foreign land. Mute, wounded, frightened, helpless.

“She was pregnant with my son!” Malfoy shouted at him. “I was finally going to be a father! And _you_ ruined it! Why were you even there, Potter? Why are you _always_ there?”

All this time Malfoy hadn’t released his hand. He hadn’t even loosened his grip. The plea of his touch was at complete odds with his words. His mouth said every cruel thing he could think of, but his hand said _don’t go, don’t leave me_.

But Harry couldn’t take it. Part of him knew that Malfoy was like a wounded animal, lashing out at a friendly hand in blind panic and pain. But it didn’t matter. He still couldn’t take it.

He wrenched himself free and left without looking back. When he passed Malfoy’s Healer in the hall, he told her Malfoy was awake, but he didn’t wait to answer her questions. Only when he found himself standing on the wet pavement in the cold rain did he take his first real breath . . .

. . . and release it.

* * * *

He didn’t hear from Malfoy again, and he was glad.

Malfoy’s merciless words had done what time hadn’t been able to. Harry stopped dreaming about that night they’d been together, and as soon as he stopped dreaming about it, it became easier to forget. For the first time in his life, he fell in love with someone, and they moved in together. He left for the office every morning with a slow meaningful kiss still clinging to his lips and fell asleep feeling sated and cherished. There were lilies on his mother’s birthday, breakfast in bed, and long autumn walks holding hands. People started talking of him as having a “partner,” not just a boyfriend. For the first time since he was a teenager, he didn’t spend Christmas Eve with the Weasleys. He started thinking in terms of “we.” He started feeling less alone.

He was content and happy . . . and then one day out of the blue he got an Owl from Malfoy. 

It was a mistake. Even as he showered and dressed and threw down the Floo powder, he knew it was a mistake. But he found himself stepping out of Malfoy’s fireplace anyway.

To his surprise, he wasn’t met by the opulence of a mansion but rather by an open airy flat with parquet floors and brick and plaster walls featuring several abstract art paintings. There were suede couches and Oriental rugs and a large solid oak dining room table with leather upholstered chairs. In other words, it was exquisite . . . but it was also . . . odd somehow. It took a minute before he could figure out why.

And then it clicked. 

Many things were lower than they should be. The worktops were lower; the sink was lower – everywhere he looked, things were oddly sized and positioned. And then Harry remembered why when Malfoy entered the room in a wheelchair.

Harry tried not to stare, but looking away felt even ruder. He couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands: Should he cross his arms and stick them under his armpits? Should he put them in his pockets? Should he just let them dangle at his sides like an idiot? He felt hot and uncomfortable and regretted that he’d accepted Malfoy’s invitation to dinner.

“Harry.”

He started when he heard his name and looked squarely at Malfoy’s face before he could stop himself. It was the same as ever, except that a kind of resoluteness had replaced the usual indolence. His hair was short and cut so that his fringe fell across his forehead, covering his left eyebrow, concealing the one scar the accident had left on his face. He looked healthy – as always his skin was pale, but his cheeks were tinged with a hint of colour and even from beneath his shirt, Harry noted the lean muscle in his shoulders, chest and arms.

Harry took it all in, and then he forced himself to look lower. He was instantly relieved by what he saw. Malfoy was wearing dark trousers and stylish black shoes. Harry had imagined visibly withered legs, but they looked completely normal. Except for the fact it had wheels, Malfoy looked like he was merely sitting comfortably in a regular chair.

“Finished with the inspection?”

Harry blushed and looked away.

“Nice flat,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“No stairs,” Malfoy replied.

Harry blushed even more hotly. Malfoy was deliberately trying to make him uncomfortable. Is that why he’d invited him? To watch him squirm and blush? If so, Harry was leaving.

“Thanks for the invitation,” he said, “but I have other plans. Glad to see you’re well and all that. Say hello to your mother for me . . .”

“I suppose your ‘other plans’ include that Adam fellow,” Malfoy said rather nastily.

Harry looked back at his face and held his gaze.

“Yes,” he said steadily. “In fact that’s exactly right.”

Malfoy sneered, but it wasn’t convincing. If Harry had thought it was possible, he might’ve said Malfoy looked disappointed – even hurt.

“He’s rather average looking, you know,” Malfoy drawled. “I would’ve thought the Chosen One could do better but apparently not.”

Harry bristled on his boyfriend’s behalf.

“Like I said, I’m leaving,” he drawled in reply. “Have a nice life.”

He’d almost reached the fireplace when Malfoy said his name again.

“Wait, Harry . . .”

Harry turned, but he willed his face to remain expressionless.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t go.”

Malfoy looked away after he spoke. He looked ashamed.

“I’m an arsehole,” he said. “And a liar. Your . . . boyfriend is very handsome. You . . . you two look good together.”

Harry relaxed and nodded his forgiveness.

“At least stay for a glass of wine.”

Harry nodded again and pulled off his coat.

“The closet’s over there,” Malfoy said, pointing to a door next to an ornate grandfather clock. Harry felt awkward again when he encountered a bar that was lower than usual. But then he hung up his coat with an odd sensation that felt like . . . surrender to the inevitable.

“I really did mean it when I said your flat’s nice,” Harry said, turning back to look at Malfoy.

Malfoy smiled. “And I meant it when I said it has no stairs.”

He nodded in the direction of a large bookcase, drew his wand, and spoke an unfamiliar spell. The bookcase parted in the middle and moved aside like stage curtains. Behind it was a lift.

“Can’t travel by Floo anymore,” Malfoy said matter-of-factly. He spoke a counter spell and the bookcases became one again.

“Brilliant,” Harry said, meaning it. He wondered what other kinds of clever devices Malfoy had designed to accommodate his disability.

“Sit down,” Malfoy said, gesturing in the direction of an armchair.

Harry sat down and watched as Malfoy wheeled himself into the large kitchen with its low marble worktops and gleaming brass pots and pans hanging from a rack above an equally low centre chopping block. Malfoy flicked his wand at a cabinet to open it and Levitated two wine glasses, leaving them floating in the air as he summoned a bottle of wine. The three objects followed behind him as though they were on invisible strings as he wheeled to the sofa closest to Harry’s chair.

“Er, do you . . . can I . . . ?” Harry stammered as Malfoy lowered the bottle and glasses onto the coffee table and struggled to manoeuvre himself from his chair onto the sofa.

“Can you what? Help me, perhaps? You do realise that I live alone and do this every day.”

Harry swallowed and looked away, once again feeling like a complete fucking idiot.

“But if you really meant if you could help and weren’t just being polite,” Malfoy continued, “then the answer is yes. I can do it myself, but it’s difficult and . . . rather ungraceful.”

Harry turned back, surprised. But when he saw that Malfoy wasn’t smirking at him, he stood and went to him . . . and then stopped. He hadn’t a bloody clue what to do next.

This time Malfoy did smirk, but it was a challenging smirk – the kind he used to give Harry when Madam Hooch released the Snitch.

“Pretend I’m a damsel in distress. Just pick me up and put me down again.”

Harry took a deep breath and leaned down to put one arm under Malfoy’s knees and the other behind his back. He was so close that he could feel Malfoy’s breath against his cheek and smell the warm clean scent of soap and skin.

Malfoy weighed a bloody tonne, and Harry staggered on his way to the couch, much to Malfoy’s amusement.

“Merlin, Potter. Aren’t Aurors supposed to stay fit?”

Harry set him on the couch and then collapsed back into his chair, rolling his eyes with a relieved smile. Perhaps Malfoy wasn’t going to be a mean prat after all.

Malfoy flicked his wand, and the cork popped free of the bottle of wine. He filled both of their glasses and Levitated them. Once both glasses were in their hands, he held his out and leaned toward Harry.

“To starting over,” he said.

Harry blinked. After what Malfoy had said to him at St Mungo’s, he wasn’t sure he could start over, but then in the space of an instant, he realised he wanted to more than anything else in the world. He leaned forward and clinked Malfoy’s glass with a shy smile that Malfoy returned just as shyly.

“So how’re things at the DMLE?” Malfoy asked. He took a sip of wine and leaned back against the sofa’s cushions.

Harry shrugged. “Much as you’d imagine, I suppose. Lots of squabbling and back-stabbing with the occasional Dark Lord wannabe thrown into the mix now and then.”

Malfoy laughed. “I bet you miss the field.”

“You can’t imagine how much,” Harry said with a rueful snort. “If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect Kingsley made me head of the department out of revenge for me being such a prat as a teenager. Aurors are divas. Every day there’s some kind of personnel crisis or another I have to manage, which – as I’m sure you can guess – is not a particular talent of mine.”

“I bet spending long hours together in stakeouts doesn’t necessarily breed fondness.”

“Or it breeds too much fondness.”

Draco smiled knowingly. “Indeed,” he said.

They drank in silence for a moment as Harry looked around, taking in the details of his surroundings. He didn’t see any overt signs of a female presence, but he decided to ask anyway. He wondered how Malfoy took care of himself without assistance.

“So, uhm, do you . . . uhm, have a girlfriend?”

Knowing his reason for asking, Harry couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable again. He took a long sip of wine in an effort to disguise it and looked everywhere except at Malfoy’s face.

Malfoy shook his head.

“Nope. No girlfriend – no boyfriend either.”

Harry blushed hotly. That actually hadn’t been the information he’d been aiming to elicit.

“But, yes, I do have a nurse who comes by every day. It’s still hard for me sometimes to get in and out of my chair to take a shower and use the loo and such although I’m getting better at it. She used to come three times a day; now she only comes by in the morning.”

Harry nodded, not knowing what to say in response.

Draco cleared his throat, willing Harry to look at him.

“I’m not embarrassed, Potter – at least not anymore. Being paralysed humbles one . . . quite a bit actually.”

The look he gave Harry was direct and uncomplicated.

“It . . . it still must be hard though,” Harry said, hoping he was successfully walking the fine line between interested and nosey.

“It is,” Malfoy said frankly. “But there are ways to get around nearly every impediment – if I think about it long enough and have the strength.”

“Well, you . . . er, look great,” Harry said and meant it. Malfoy definitely looked better than Harry would’ve imagined.

“Thanks,” Malfoy replied and lifted his glass in recognition of Harry’s compliment. 

Harry drained his own glass and nodded at the bottle. 

“Mind if I have another?”

“Not at all. There are certainly more bottles where it came from,” Malfoy replied. “Wine collecting has become one of my new hobbies. I know more about vineyards and vintages than any man probably should.”

“Well, I know nothing about wine,” Harry replied. “Except I know this one’s bloody good.” He held up the bottle and read the label. It came from somewhere in France.

“Astoria and I lived near the vineyard that produced it,” Malfoy said. “It’s a beautiful place. The fields are full of lavender in the summer and sunflowers in the fall. It’s very colourful – unlike London.”

He gestured at one of the rain-streaked windows.

Harry bit his lip and set the bottle down, blushing and uncomfortable again.

“No need to feel awkward,” Malfoy said, reading Harry’s body language like a book. “I accepted the fact that she’s dead a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled. 

He felt unexpected tears prick his eyes.

“I tried,” he said, looking at Malfoy pleadingly, wanting Malfoy to believe him. “But there was . . . the other car was burning, and I . . . She was dead when I found her. If I could do it again, I’d have gone to your car first. But I didn’t know. I tried . . . I’m so sorry.”

He swallowed and put his glass on the coffee table.

“Thank you for the wine,” he stammered and stood up. “I should be getting home.”

He was getting his coat out of the closet when he felt it. An invisible tingling vine of warmth wove itself between the fingers of his left hand and gently squeezed. Startled, he glanced instinctively at Malfoy who’d drawn his wand and was looking at him with a calm steady gaze.

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “I never did. Even though I know I told you otherwise at St Mungo’s.”

Harry dragged his sleeve over his eyes to wipe away the tears that’d started to fall. He’d been holding it all in for so long. That night . . . the sheen of ice, Astoria’s blue unseeing eyes, the delicate strand of pearls around her neck, her swollen belly . . .

“You did everything you could,” Malfoy said. “I know that.”

“But I went to the other car . . .”

“Harry. Come here.”

Malfoy’s voice was tender and so like the voice he’d used when they’d made love that Harry couldn’t _not_ go to him. His soul felt drawn to Malfoy like a magnet to steel. He was kneeling between Malfoy’s legs before he even knew what he was doing. He covered his face with his hands and put his head in Malfoy’s lap.

After a moment, he felt Malfoy’s hand in his hair.

They didn’t speak. Words would’ve spoiled the peaceful quiet that settled over them. Malfoy stroked Harry’s head, combing his fingers through his hair, and Harry slowly relaxed into the forgiveness of Malfoy’s touch. 

He hadn’t meant it to be sexual. He’d meant it to be an apology, but nonetheless he wasn’t surprised when his body temperature rose and his cock started to stiffen.

He’d wanted Malfoy for so _so_ long.

Malfoy must’ve sensed the change in his breathing because he brushed his knuckles against Harry’s cheek.

“Show me,” he whispered.

Harry inhaled shakily and lifted his head.

“I can’t,” he said. “Adam.”

He watched the muscles in Malfoy’s throat work for a second as he fought back whatever emotion had taken hold of him at the mention of Adam’s name.

“Please,” he said after a moment. His voice sounded strangled. “I swear I won’t touch you.”

Harry looked into his eyes and tried to remind himself why he should leave.

“Please,” Malfoy stammered, choking on his words. “I promise I won’t touch.”

Harry could only imagine what it was costing Malfoy to beg like this . . . and for nothing more than a glimpse of his dick. He struggled to push Adam out of his mind. This wasn’t sex after all. And Malfoy had promised he wouldn’t touch him. This wasn’t cheating. This was offering comfort. Nothing more . . .

He nodded and stood up.

Malfoy’s eyes didn’t just watch him pull off his jumper and open his jeans, they _devoured_ him. Harry unbuckled his belt slowly, sensing that Malfoy needed him to take his time. When his fly was open, he pushed his jeans off his hips. He was fully hard now, and the head of his cock protruded from beneath the waistband of his pants, already free of its foreskin.

Malfoy inhaled sharply. His eyes were slightly glazed as his gaze caressed Harry’s body like covetous hands.

“Oh God.” He breathed out the words with his exhale. “Harry.”

Harry had never in his life felt as aware of his cock as he did under Malfoy’s searing gaze. He felt the blood pulse into it, stiffening it even more. He felt the wetness of its tip when he rubbed it with his thumb. He could even smell it.

Malfoy must’ve been able to as well because he inhaled deeply as though he was appraising a newly uncorked wine. He wet his lips with his tongue, and his breath caught in his throat. Probably on nothing more than erotic instinct, Malfoy lifted his hands from his lap and began pinching and twisting his nipples through his shirt.

Lust surged into Harry’s veins as he slid his hands from his waist down onto his hips, pushing his pants and jeans along with them until his cock sprang free and his balls hung between his thighs.

Malfoy groaned and squeezed his eyes shut for a second before opening them and lifting his gaze to Harry’s face. His eyes were filled with unstaunched hunger, stripped bare of all artifice and restraint. He was shaking and breathless.

Would touching himself be cheating? After all, he watched porn and wanked to the sight of other men fucking each other. Did it make a difference if he thought of Adam while he did it?

Even though he knew he wouldn’t.

He was trying to rationalise what he wanted to do more than anything, and he knew it. Just once. Next time he saw Malfoy it would be in public where it wasn’t a possibility that anything like this could happen. He’d even invite Malfoy over for dinner with him and Adam. They’d all become great friends . . .

Harry slid his hand down from his chest, over his stomach and between his legs. He took his cock in hand and began stroking it slowly, sliding the foreskin over the head and then pulling it back down again. It was purple and wet and ready, and the slit was swollen.

“You don’t have to,” Malfoy rasped – his voice gutted with wanting.

“I know,” Harry replied. He pulled his foreskin back as far as he could so nothing obscured the pearl of clear fluid that beaded from his wide-open slit and slid down on a strand until the strand broke, and it fell to the floor.

“Don’t come too soon,” Malfoy begged, “but when you do, come on me. I need to watch you come, Harry. I need it more than anything in the world. I’ll beg if you want me to.”

Harry groaned deep in his chest and began pumping his hips, thrusting his aching cock into his tightening grip. He’d never felt so wanted in his whole life – so _needed_. His body responded to Malfoy’s rapt attention like a blossoming rose responds to the June sun.

“You’re so beautiful,” Malfoy said, his chest heaving and his face damp and flushed. “Come for me.”

Harry spread his legs as far as he could and wanked like he hadn’t wanked since he was a teenager. The slap slap slap was obscenely loud in the quiet room as were Malfoy’s moaned pleas.

“Tell me,” Malfoy said, making a sound like he was almost gagging on his own words. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good,” Harry replied, out of his mind with the need to come. “Like I’m gonna explode. So much . . . _so_ much pressure . . . . Oh!”

He’d wanted to warn Malfoy before it happened, but his orgasm slammed into him like a train with failed brakes. He seized his cock just below the head and pointed it at Malfoy, watching as spurt after spurt of come splattered his chest and throat and face. The last landed on his lips, and Harry groaned brokenly when Malfoy licked them clean; his eyes closed as though he was savouring an expensive dessert.

“Gotta sit down,” Harry gasped as he dropped onto the couch beside Malfoy and tilted his head back, struggling to catch his breath and slow his stampeding heart. Finally he pulled up his jeans and turned his face towards Malfoy.

Malfoy was staring at him wide-eyed. His blown pupils almost eclipsed the grey of his irises. He’d wiped his face clean, but his cheeks and throat were still flushed, and his hair was clinging to his forehead with sweat.

Harry had never seen anyone look so aroused. So vulnerable with need.

Fuck it. He’d tell Adam what he’d done. He’d apologise and swear he’d never do it again – and he wouldn’t. He was never going to put himself in this kind of situation again.

“I’ll make you come,” he said. “I want to more than anything.”

Malfoy swallowed and turned his face to the ceiling. He took a deep breath and then another . . . and another.

“I can’t,” he said at last.

Harry sat up and looked at him.

“You _what_?”

“I can’t come,” Malfoy replied, his voice dead. “I feel nothing down there. My dick is nothing but a dead piece of meat.”

He nodded disdainfully at his lap. 

“But the sick thing is that I’m constantly dreaming about sex, and I can remember how it felt to get hard, to have an orgasm. But of course I never can in reality. I’m so frustrated when I wake up that I want to scream.”

He looked back at Harry’s face.

“I dream about you,” he said nakedly. “I dream about that night. I’d wanted you so much for so long, and then it happened . . . I couldn’t believe it – that you let me . . .”

“I dream about it too,” Harry said. “It was my first time.”

Malfoy made a broken sound and covered his face.

“I didn’t know . . .”

“Because I didn’t tell you.”

“I would’ve . . .”

“You did.”

Harry reached over and smoothed the damp hair off Malfoy’s forehead.

“I thought you suspected,” he said. “You were so careful.”

“I don’t remember being careful.”

“But you were. I was surprised actually.”

Malfoy laughed into his hands.

“I don’t blame you.”

Harry took a deep breath and tried to talk himself out of saying what he said next – but to no avail.

“From the way you . . . you were, I thought . . . I thought that you might be in love with me.”

He winced at his stupidity when Malfoy pulled his hands away from his face and turned to look him.

“I was,” he said.

The look in his eyes was so raw that Harry almost had to look away again.

“Then why . . . ?”

“Because getting married was what I was _supposed to do_ ,” he replied. “What I _had_ to do – and because I really did love her, and I . . . I desperately wanted a son. More than anything in the world I wanted my own child, my flesh and blood made real.”

Harry swallowed hard, remembering Astoria’s pregnant belly.

“I was a bloody idiot,” Malfoy said.

“But you did love her.”

Malfoy smiled fondly. “Yeah,” he said. “I did. She was my best friend. She would’ve been a wonderful mother to our son.”

Harry turned his face to the ceiling. He felt tired and slightly sick. He should leave.

“But it was you I wanted,” Malfoy said. “And given time . . .”

He fell silent. After awhile Harry turned his head to look at him again.

“And given time?”

“Given time I would’ve told you.”

It was, beyond a doubt, cheating when Harry cupped Malfoy’s flushed face in his hands and kissed him deeply just like he’d been wanting to for so _so_ long. And then he kept kissing him and kissing him and kissing him.

* * * *

Breaking up with Adam was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

They’d both cried, and Adam had yelled, and Harry had let him. He hadn’t meant for it to happen. He’d been sincere when he told Adam he loved him. But none of that mattered as Harry sat on the floor, his arms around his drawn-up knees, and watched Adam pack and shrink his boxes.

“He’ll never be able to fuck you,” Adam said, cruel with pain. “And you know how much you love being fucked.”

Harry didn’t respond. What could he say? After all, he was the arsehole. He was the one breaking up with a man who loved him for a man who didn’t even know how he felt – let alone feel the same way.

For weeks Harry had struggled to convince himself that he wasn’t falling in love with Draco again. He hadn’t gone back after that evening they’d kissed. He hadn’t even replied to Draco’s Owls. But it was useless. Draco was all he could think about . . . all he wanted. Overnight, Adam had become a trespasser in his heart, which, once again, belonged completely to Draco. Whether Harry wanted it to or not.

“He’s dead sexually,” Adam said. “You’re only thirty-one, Harry. Do you really want to be celibate for the rest of your life? You’re too much of a sexual being to do that and stay sane. Don’t come looking for me when you’re pulling your hair out in frustration.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said lamely. “If it’s any consolation, I wish I didn’t feel the way I do. I really don’t.”

“Well, it isn’t,” Adam said, pulling on his coat and shoving his shrunken boxes into his pockets.

He slammed the door so hard behind him that the photograph of them at Seamus and Susan’s wedding fell off the wall. Harry pulled his knees tighter against his chest and closed his eyes, praying he hadn’t just made the worst mistake of his life.

 

He was drunk when he staggered out of Draco’s fireplace, getting ashes on the rug and shouting his name.

“Malfoy, you bastard! Where the hell are you?”

It took so long that Harry concluded he wasn’t home, but before he stepped back into the fireplace, Draco appeared, looking rumpled and sleepy and highly annoyed.

“What the fuck?” he growled. “It’s three o’clock in the morning. You have a lot of bloody nerve, Potter, considering how you completely shrugged me off . . .”

“I broke up with Adam,” Harry blurted out.

Draco glared at him. 

“And that’s supposed to be my fault?”

“You’re bloody right it’s your fault,” Harry shouted. “I was finally _over_ you!”

He collapsed onto the nearest couch and covered his face with his hands.

“What’ve I done?” he groaned. “I finally fall in love with someone who isn’t you, and then you appear in my life again, and I ruin everything just so I can fucking kiss you!”

“Again,” Draco said coldly. “Not my fault.”

Harry didn’t respond. How could he? Draco was right. The fact that Harry had broken up with Adam wasn’t his fault – or even his problem.

“I’m really drunk,” Harry said when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Really? Except for the slurring and the smell of Firewhisky, I never would’ve guessed.”

“Don’t wanna go home.”

“The Leaky’s ten doors down.”

“Don’t wanna go to Leaky’s. The towels smell like armpits.”

“Then firecall Weasley or Granger.”

“They’re asleep.”

Draco snorted. “Whereas I wasn’t.”

“Wanna stay here,” Harry said. He lay down on the sofa and curled around himself like a caterpillar.

Draco sighed with exasperation.

“You’ll get cold,” he said. “Besides I don’t want you getting sick on my sofa.”

“Sleep,” Harry grumbled, waving his hand dismissively in Draco’s direction.

“Bloody hell,” Draco said, and suddenly Harry felt himself being Levitated off the couch and following Draco like a balloon on a string as he wheeled down a dimly lit hallway.

“Put me down,” Harry protested and then got his wish when Draco said _Finite Incantatem_ , and Harry dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Wherever it was he’d landed, it was warm and soft and smelled of Draco.

“You’d better not snore or steal the duvet or you’re exiled to the spare room,” Draco said.

“I’m in your bed?”

“No, you’re in Hagrid’s. Of course you’re in my bed, you daft git.”

“Smells good, much better than the Leaky’s towels,” Harry murmured, too drunk to care how stupid he sounded.

“That sounds like a very low bar but thank you anyway.”

Harry’s eyes had closed but he opened them again as Draco began trying to manoeuvre himself out of his chair and onto the bed.

“Want help?” he hic-cupped.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Sure. Please drag your drunk carcass over here and assist me.”

He laughed when Harry tried to do just that.

“I was joking, Potter. You’d be about as much help as a walrus dying of the Bubonic Plague. I’ve been doing this on my own since my nurse stopped coming by at night. Thanks for your offer, but I think I can manage it.”

“Prat,” Harry mumbled into the most heavenly feather pillow he’d ever encountered.

“Takes one,” Draco replied as he lay down beside him.

“I like coffee, by the way.”

“Too bad. I haven’t got any. You’ll just have to drag your hung-over arse to the café and bring it home.”

“Bring it home?” Harry murmured.

“That’s what I said.”

“Don’t wanna go home.”

Harry was third-quarters asleep when Draco replied, but Harry was sure he’d heard correctly all the same.

“Not your home, _my_ home. Now shut it. I need my beauty sleep.”

“G’Night,” Harry murmured.

“You too, Potty.” 

Harry fell asleep certain he’d made the right choice.

* * * *

He’d never had so many orgasms in one weekend.

Draco was insatiable. He made Harry come and watched avidly as Harry made himself come. He had Harry bend over the arm of the sofa and spread his legs far enough that he could position his chair so he could finger and rim Harry’s arse as Harry thrust into a cushion and came so hard it felt like he’d sprained his abdominal muscles.

It was heady and decadent. Harry had never felt so desired. Draco worshipped his body with his hands and mouth and eyes, moaning at every drop of precome and every twitch of his cock. He sucked Harry’s tits and caressed his shoulders and even licked his armpits and nibbled on his toes. And Harry returned the favour, kissing Draco’s bare stomach, his chest, the place behind his ear that made Draco shiver and left him panting with goose bumps on his arms.

But Draco never took off his trousers, and every time Harry tried to reach between his legs, Draco grabbed his wrist and placed his hand somewhere above his waist.

“I wish I could make you come,” he murmured into Draco’s ear more than once. “I wish it more than anything.” 

But each time Draco drew away and placed a finger against Harry’s lips before pulling Harry toward him for another kiss that made Harry forget everything except the way Draco’s mouth felt against his own.

* * * *

Much to his friends’ alarm and disapprobation, Harry rented out his flat and moved in with Draco two weeks later. There was a lot of talk of “too soon” and “this is not going to end well,” but Harry paid no attention. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to dismiss the nurse and be the one to take care of Draco. He wanted to fall asleep next to Draco at night and wake up beside him in the morning. He wanted to sleep in sheets that smelled of Draco’s skin and wear Draco’s shirts and drink Draco’s wine. He wanted to eat dinner at Draco’s table and brush his teeth in front of Draco’s bathroom mirror and come at Draco’s command. He wanted to watch Draco’s throat and chest flush, and his nipples harden, and sweat bead on his brow and upper lip from nothing but a glimpse of the bulge in Harry’s jeans. He’d never even dreamed that such erotic hunger existed, and he was addicted to it . . . addicted to Draco’s fathomless desire for him.

But nothing could change the fact that Draco couldn’t have an orgasm, and too often Harry had to let him be alone after he’d come. For Draco, there was no release except the passage of time. He’d meditate until his breathing and heart rate and body temperature returned to normal, and then they’d share a bottle of wine and not talk about the elephant in the room.

Draco insisted adamantly that he didn’t mind – that he wanted to watch Harry climax, but Harry wasn’t blind to what it cost him . . . and how it reminded Draco of what he’d lost. He even caught Draco sobbing in frustration on a few occasions – not just over his inability to find some kind of release, but because he needed Harry to know beyond mere words how much he wanted him.

 

“I used to be obsessed with coming,” Draco said one night in the midst of their second bottle of Merlot.

Harry laughed. “Who isn’t?”

"No, I mean really _really_ obsessed,” Draco said. “Even before I was physically capable of having an orgasm, I pretended I could come anyway.”

Harry poured them both another glass of wine. He hadn’t liked Merlot until Draco had taught him he’d been drinking it all wrong – not to mention the wrong kinds.

“How’d you do that?” he asked, feeling his cock take a distinct interest in the turn their conversation had taken after an hour of discussing curriculum changes proposed by Hogwarts’ Board of Trustees.

Draco blushed so much it reached his ears, turning them red. He downed his glass of wine and poured himself another before he answered.

“I, uhm, well, I . . .”

“C’mon, tell me,” Harry coaxed while sliding his hand between his legs to signal just _how_ interested he was in Draco’s answer.

Draco visibly relaxed as Harry began to knead his cock through his jeans.

“I started when I was ten. I would piss,” he said abruptly. “I would touch myself until I got a partial erection, and then I’d piss, pretending I was ejaculating.”

Harry wasn’t prepared from the sledgehammer of lust that struck him at Draco’s words, and he groaned deep in his chest.

“Fuck. That is probably the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Draco’s blush deepened, but he looked pleased to have ignited Harry’s erotic imagination.

“Yeah, it really kind of was,” he said. “I’d pretend I was coming even though I didn’t know yet how it actually felt to have an orgasm. There was a sense of release that always relaxed me afterward.”

Harry whimpered. He couldn’t help it. His body was filled with pure, unadulterated craving at the image Draco’s words had painted. Ten year-old Malfoy rubbing his dick and then soaking his pyjama bottoms with urine.

“I’d even hump my pillow and piss into it, pretending it was a girl – not because I was interested in girls, but because I wanted to imagine myself coming inside a girl and making her pregnant.”

Harry unbuckled his belt, and Draco’s mouth unfurled into a lascivious smile.

“Tell me more,” Harry groaned.

“It started with the portraits,” Draco continued. “The Manor is full of portraits of my ancestors. For some reason, Malfoy men almost never father girls, which is predictably a great source of pride for my crusty old forbearers. So when I was ten years-old, they started urging me to show them my balls because in their mildewed old minds the size of a male’s balls dictates whether he’ll father a son or a daughter, and of course the Malfoys want sons – including my father. Merlin only knows what kind of identity crisis he would’ve had if I’d been a girl.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. The thought of an emasculated Lucius Malfoy was delightfully amusing.

“Which was why I couldn’t be gay, of course. I’m sure my father would’ve preferred a daughter over a homosexual son.”

Harry nodded. It made perfect sense.

“Anyway, I was obsessed with reaching puberty. My pervy ancestors all wanted me to wank for them so they could ‘assess my semen.’ So I ‘practised’ by pissing when I touched myself, and then, of course, when I actually developed the ability to ejaculate, I wanked like a fiend. My barmy ancestors couldn’t get enough of it; they thought I had the quintessential ‘Malfoy semen’ and taught me all kinds of ways to increase the volume and shot it harder and farther. Seriously. If my poor mother had had any idea . . .”

Harry had opened his jeans while Draco spoke and started wanking. He couldn’t help it. Draco’s words were driving him mad. Draco groaned raggedly when he saw how hard he’d made Harry and how close Harry was to coming.

“So, yeah, I was obsessed with my own come. I wanted to ejaculate it in every fuckable hole I could find. Including _your_ arse – actually I should’ve said _especially_ your arse. You have no idea, Harry, how much I fantasised about coming in your arse.”

“God, Draco!” Harry said, nearly gagging on his lust. “Fuck!”

Draco didn’t respond or even move for a long time – so long in fact that Harry started to feel a tad ridiculous. But then Draco took off his shirt and spoke in a strangled whisper.

“Stand up,” he said hoarsely. His chest was flushed and heaving and slick with sweat.

Harry didn’t have to be asked twice.

“Strip.” Draco’s voice was stern and calm, sending a shivering thrill through Harry’s whole body.

Once Harry was naked, Draco ordered him to resume wanking.

“Tell me when you’re about to come,” he said.

Harry tightening his grip on his cock and imagined Draco as a boy with his trousers around his knees wanking for five hundred years of Malfoy ancestors. And then he imagined Draco groaning in release as a stream of piss started to flow from his dick, soaking the expensive carpet under his feet.

“I’m going to come!” Harry cried, too close too soon.

“Watch,” Draco ordered him, and Harry followed his gaze onto his lap. Draco was kneading his cock – something that Harry had never seen him do before.

“God,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t stop doing that.”

“Watch,” Draco said again, his voice just as rough.

It took a couple of seconds before he saw what Draco wanted him to see, but then he noticed a wet spot appear on Draco’s expensive grey trousers. He watched breathlessly as the spot grew, and suddenly it dawned on him what was happening. 

Draco was pissing!

Harry had never seen anything sexier in his whole life. The urine turned the grey fabric of Draco’s trousers black. He watched hungrily as the wetness began to spread . . . it was like Draco was coming – only better.

Draco tilted his head back and moaned in release as his lap filled with piss. Harry was starting to feel lightheaded from breathing too shallowly and too fast. He whimpered Draco’s name helplessly.

“Say it,” he gasped, hoping Draco knew what he meant.

“I’m coming . . .” Draco moaned brokenly as he continued urinating. “Oh God, I’m _coming_ , Harry . . .”

Harry sobbed as his orgasm shook his whole body and then dropped him to his knees as though he was nothing more than a ragdoll.

“Christ,” he panted, on the verge of blacking out. “Fuck.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realised there were tears on his face.

When at last he found the strength to lift his head and look at Draco, he saw that there were tears on his face as well – tears of release . . . and unmistakable gratitude.

* * * *

It was like he was a teenager again.

Harry got more work done in a few days than he usually accomplished in a month. He had to keep his mind occupied or it would stray into the delicious wilderness of memories that encroached on his every thought.

Meetings were the worst. He was reminded of all the times he’d had to ask a professor for permission to go to the loo so his fifteen year-old hormone-ravaged body could find release with a frantic wank in a locked cubicle. The only difference was that now he could wank in his office while watching the photographs of Draco on his desk, coming with an embarrassingly loud grunt after only a minute or two as he pictured Draco pissing in his trousers.

His favourite memory so far was of the night after the first time Draco “came.”

Draco had met him at the door and didn’t even let him hang up his coat before leading him to the candle-lit bathroom.

“Hello to you too,” Harry had said, already feeling the pressure in his lower belly that signalled an imminent erection.

Draco had grinned mischievously.

“Help me to sit on the countertop.”

Harry had leaned down and kissed him deeply at the same time he positioned his arms so he could lift Draco out of his chair. They’d continued kissing as Harry set him down and gripped his waist to steady him.

“Okay?” he’d murmured against Draco’s ear.

“More than. Spread my legs, Harry.”

Harry had placed his hands on both of Draco’s knees and slowly spread his thighs apart. He’d watched Draco’s physical therapist do the same thing during one of Draco’s daily rehabilitation sessions. It’d been clear to him that one needed to be careful or risk tearing a contracted muscle. It was made all the more nerve-racking because Draco couldn’t feel anything and therefore couldn’t tell Harry if he was hurting him.

When Harry had his legs partially open, he’d reached down to touch the inside muscles of Draco’s thighs to make sure they weren’t too tense to spread any further apart; Draco’s therapist had told him how to tell if Draco’s legs were being pushed past their limit, but they’d felt okay. Harry had parted Draco’s legs even further.

“I want you to stand between them,” Draco had murmured against his ear. 

Harry had nodded as he gently eased himself between Draco’s legs until at last his groin touched Draco’s.

“Kiss me,” Draco had said once Harry was where he wanted him.

Despite his concern at not exceeding Draco’s physical limits, Harry had been hard. Because Draco was taller than him, they’d been exactly level and face to face – something that was rare.

“Pretend there’s nothing wrong with me,” Draco had whispered.

“There _isn't_ anything wrong with you,” Harry had replied fiercely, but Draco shushed him with a finger against his lips.

“Please don’t argue. I need for you not to argue.”

Harry had nodded solemnly and leaned forward to kiss him again. Draco had kissed him in return without holding anything back, ravenous and trembling.

“I’ve been hard all day,” he’d said against Harry’s ear, making Harry shiver. “I couldn’t wait until you got home.”

“Draco,” Harry had breathed as he kissed the underside of Draco’s jaw and then his throat.

“Can you feel it? Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

It hadn’t even been difficult for Harry to pretend. He’d been able to hear the naked desire in Draco’s voice. If Draco wasn’t paralysed, he’d have been on the verge of coming. It was clear from his urgency, from the depth of the need in his voice.

“I can feel it,” Harry had groaned.

“Rub against my cock,” Draco had whispered, and Harry started carefully pressing forward.

They’d been kissing like horny virgins with spit on their chins when Draco reached down and grabbed Harry’s arse, pulling him close.

“Oh God,” he’d whimpered into their scorching kiss. “I’m going to come.”

“Do it,” Harry had said, suddenly overwhelmed with excitement. “Come for me, Draco.”

And then he’d felt it – Draco began urinating.

“I’m coming,” he’d groaned, as he soaked the front of Harry’s trousers.

Before Draco’s bladder could empty, Harry shoved his own trousers down and let the piss seeping through Draco’s jeans warm his cock as he started to come . . .

He’d never come so hard in his entire life, and he shuddered in Draco’s arms as Draco continued to urinate until the stream turned into a trickle and then stopped.

“Oh my God,” Harry had panted, staring down between their bodies at the mess of piss and come. Then he’d looked up at Draco’s flushed – and very happy – face.

“Welcome home,” he’d said and then kissed Harry even more breathless than he already was.

* * * *

One of the best things about Draco’s discovery that Harry loved it when he pissed on him was that he stopped being ashamed of his cock. He still wouldn’t get naked in front of Harry, but he did let Harry touch him.

And even better, sometimes it was in public . . .

“I can’t decide,” Draco said. “Am I in the mood for chicken marsala or biryani?”

“Marsala,” Harry replied. “I don’t like biryani, and I’ll be eating the leftovers.”

Draco rolled his eyes. 

“All the more reason to get the biryani. You’re a gluttonous pig. You’d think that you’d leave some leftovers for me once and awhile.”

“I would if you didn’t let them sit around for days, tempting me every time I open fridge.”

“Do not.”

“Do too . . .”

They were interrupted by a waitress who didn’t seem in the mood to wait for them to finish their bickering. The restaurant was jammed, and it looked like she was the only one taking orders.”

“Chicken biryani,” Draco said, and Harry poked him in the ribs.

“Out of biryani,” the waitress said curtly.

“Bugger. Marsala then,” Draco said grumpily, and Harry laughed.

“God likes me better,” he gloated after the waitress disappeared through the kitchen door. “Even when my scar isn’t visible.”

Harry always used a weak Glamour when they went out together. The last thing he wanted was to spend the evening autographing serviettes when he wanted to be talking with Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes again and then smirked when Harry filled his empty glass with more water.

“Subtle,” he purred and then laughed when Harry blushed.

“Just making sure you don’t get dehydrated.”

“Sure you are,” Draco said with the self-satisfied smirk that never failed to make Harry very aware of his own cock. He shifted in his chair, and Draco raised an eyebrow.

“You may be the only person in the world who gets turned on watching his boyfriend drink a bottle of Pellegrino.”

Harry blushed even darker. “Pellegrino” was code for “I’m going to piss for you tonight.” Their cabinets and fridge were crammed with bottles.

He was hard now and not at all interested in eating curry anymore.

“Let’s take it for take-away,” he whispered.

Draco made a show of examining his fingernails.

We _always_ take our food take-away,” he said with feigned petulance. “I want to stay here and have a nice leisurely multi-course dinner.”

Harry groaned.

“You’re such a tease,” he growled. But then he had an idea – a fabulously _brilliant_ idea.

“Move closer to me.”

Draco looked at him sceptically, but he wheeled himself around the table until he and Harry could brush elbows.

“Just go with it,” Harry whispered in his ear. He reached under the table and put his hand between Draco’s legs and felt his cock start to swell.

 _It’s a reflex_ , Draco had told him the first time he’d taken Harry’s hand and placed it between his legs. _I can’t feel anything, but I get partially hard when I’m being touched_.

The knowledge had blown Harry’s mind – in the best of ways – and now he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“Are you touching me?” Draco asked. Harry’s hand was not only under the table, it was under a table cloth as well.

“Yeah,” Harry said roughly.

“Is it getting hard?”

“Yeah.”

Harry was so turned on that his brain was incapable of forming words longer than one syllable.

“Come for me,” he whispered.

Draco bit back a grin.

“You’re a perv, Potter. You better have your wand ready for a lightning-fast _Tergeo_.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Harry growled. “Just come, Draco. I want to feel you come.”

“And then do I get to make you come?”

“You can dump your marsala on my head if you want – you can do _anything_ if you do this for me.”

Draco laughed breathlessly.

“If I do that, there won’t be any leftovers . . .”

“Shut it, Malfoy, and come for me.”

Draco moaned softly, and Harry kneaded his cock until it was as hard as it could get – which wasn’t very hard, but still hard enough to fill Harry’s hand.

“Tell me when you’re about to start coming,” Harry whispered.

“Already am,” Draco choked. “Oh fuck . . .”

Harry’s hand started filling with the wet heat of Draco’s piss, and for a second, his heart felt like it’d stopped beating from the sudden influx of lust in his veins. It felt amazing – Draco’s swollen prick and balls in his palm and piss flowing through his fingers, soaking the table cloth where it brushed against Draco’s lap.

“Keep coming,” Harry murmured as he reached his other hand between his own legs and began rubbing his cock.

“Don’t you dare make yourself come,” Draco growled against his ear, but it was too late. Harry arched his back and came hard with a loud gasp.

“Very discreet,” Draco said, laughing.

Harry’s hand was still between his legs kneading Draco’s urine-soaked trousers. If he could have his way, he’d keep doing it all night, but then he saw their waitress crossing the room toward their table with a tray balanced against her shoulder.

“ _Tergeo_!” he said and an instant later, Draco’s lap was clean and dry. He moaned at the loss of wet wool under his palm, but then the waitress was there, setting down their plates.

“Anything else?” she asked, clearly hoping the answer would be no.

Too bad for her. Harry looked up, met her gaze and grinned.

“Yes,” he said. “Can we please have another jug of water?”

* * * *

Draco had looked good when they’d first got together, but now he was radiant. Even Harry’s friends noticed (shockingly Ron among them). Harry was good for him, they all agreed, but Harry knew (because Hermione told him) that when he wasn’t present, they also agreed that Draco was good for _him_. Which meant he and Draco started getting invitations – especially from Neville and Luna.

But there was one kind of event Harry had to attend alone – even though Draco was always invited too.

Quidditch matches.

Harry was caught by surprise the first time he told Draco that Ron had two extra tickets to see the Harpies play the Wasps and had invited them to join him. Draco got absolutely _furious_ , which meant he also got cuttingly cruel.

“Grow up, Potter,” he snarled. “It’s just a stupid game. How old are you? Fourteen? Or perhaps you just want to watch your ex-girlfriend grind her slimy cunt against a broom handle.”

Harry could only gape at him. What the hell?

“I guess I’ll just go by myself then,” he said.

Draco sneered at him and then wheeled over to one of the windows and sat with his back turned toward Harry.

“I don’t give a fuck what you do. Go have fun and yell at sweaty morons flying around on brooms. I hope it makes you hot. But don’t come staggering back here stinking of cheap lager and cheese and onion crisps. Stay at Weasley’s. I don’t want to see you.”

Harry inhaled sharply, wounded by Draco’s vicious words. But then his pride kicked in.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Stay at home and enjoy your pity party. It’s not my fault you can’t fly anymore.”

Ouch.

He regretted his remark the instant it left his mouth. Regretted it horribly. But it’d been said, and he couldn’t unring the bell.

He panicked when Draco didn’t even respond.

“Fuck, Draco. I am so sorry. I’m a fucking idiot . . .”

“Leave.”

Draco said the word without turning around – without even raising his voice.

“I won’t go to the match,” Harry said, panicking. “I don’t want to go. You’re right; Quidditch _is_ stupid and childish.”

“I said leave.”

Draco’s voice was a frigid layer of ice only thinly covering an ocean of fury.

“Draco . . .”

“Get the fuck out, Potter. I don’t want to see your face in my flat any longer.”

Harry’s throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow the lump of fear that blocked it, forcing him to literally gasp for breath.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I want you to go away.”

“I can’t . . . I won’t . . .”

“I’m a fucking cripple,” Draco said turning away from the window. His mouth twitched with rage, but his eyes were cold and dead.

“No, you’re not! I didn’t mean . . .”

“Bollocks!” Draco yelled at him. “Stop fucking pretending you’re not disgusted by me! Stop acting like you’re not just a pervert panting after a cripple and drinking his piss, pretending its come. You’re a sick bastard, Potter!”

Even in his stunned state, Harry saw Draco flinch at his own words as his face went from being flushed with anger to pale with shock.

What they did together . . . it was as sacred as anything in Harry’s life.

He couldn’t stay in Draco’s presence a moment longer. He turned his back, grabbed his coat from the rack and ran out the door.

 

He didn’t go to the match. Instead he went straight to the nearest pub and got pissed out of his mind. He woke in his office at the Ministry wondering why the fuck he was there . . . and then remembering.

He firecalled Hermione and then unshrunk his Roadster and drove like a madman to Hogsmeade, arriving mid-evening in record time.

“Harry! What’s wrong,” she cried when she opened the door at his knock.

He could only shake his head. She took his hand and led him into the living room.

“You’re shivering,” she said as she sat him down in an armchair and draped a blanket over his shoulders.

“Drove with the top down,” he croaked.

“Harry, it’s the middle of February! What were you thinking?”

“Wasn’t, I guess.”

She went to the kitchen and returned after a minute with a steaming mug of coffee.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, wrapping his frozen fingers around it.

She sat down near him and waited for him to tell her what was going on. But when he didn’t say anything, she broke the silence.

“Draco?”

He nodded.

“Did you two fight?”

He nodded again.

“I think it may be over,” he said, his voice quavering more from emotion than cold.

She moved closer and took one of his hands in both of hers.

“Tell me,” she said softly, and he did, leaving out only the personal details. Despite Draco’s words, it was still sacred to Harry – and very much their secret, at least if Draco still wanted to keep it that way. He tried hard not to imagine Draco telling Pansy what a pervert Harry was.

“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice hoarse from talking nonstop for a half an hour.

She squeezed his hand.

“I think I might.”

He raised his eyes from his nearly empty mug and looked at her.

“Quidditch used to be so important to him,” she said. “I remember hearing he was even more obsessed with it than you were, which is saying something.”

“Then why wouldn’t he go with me?”

“He didn’t want to go because it would be too painful. He wasn’t lashing out at you, Harry, he was lashing out at the unfairness of the universe that had taken something he’d loved so much away from him.”

“It sure felt like he was lashing out at me,” Harry muttered.

“You know how he is,” she said. “This shouldn’t be that big of a surprise.”

But it was. He blinked back tears.

“You look terrible,” she said. “Go upstairs and get some sleep. I’ll make us some comfort food for supper.”

He was going to argue, but then he realised how right she was. He was exhausted from driving so fast for so long.

He’d barely fallen asleep when he was wakened by voices downstairs.

“Granger! Thank Merlin, you’re there. Is Harry with you?”

Draco’s voice. He sounded frantic.

“I’m not sure if I’m at liberty to answer that question,” she said coldly.

“Just tell me if he’s all right. I went to his office. That bloody car of his wasn’t on his desk. Please, just tell me he’s not hurt and lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“He’s not lying in a ditch,” she said, her voice a tad warmer. 

There was a brief silence.

“Thank God . . . if anything happened to him . . .”

“I have reason to believe he’s fine.”

“If . . . if you hear from him, please tell him I called,” Draco said barely loud enough for Harry to hear him.

“And if I do hear from him, what should I say?”

“Tell him I said that I’m more sorry than he could ever imagine, and that I want him to come home - that I _need_ him to come home."

Harry swallowed. He’d never heard Draco sound so vulnerable and so obviously in pain. He got up and went downstairs.

“I guess you heard all of that,” Hermione said.

He nodded.

“Are you going back to London tonight?”

He nodded again.

“Then will you promise me that you’ll shrink that silly car and Apparate?”

“My car is not silly,” he grumbled, and she grinned, looking relieved. She walked to her study and came back with a piece of parchment.

“Take this,” she said, handing it to him. “A sixth year was paralysed in a Quidditch accident last spring. His parents hired this woman to train him to fly again. He’s not good enough that he can play with his team again, but he can fly. It’s changed his life. He’d fallen into a deep depression after the accident, and he’s so much better now.”

Harry looked at the parchment. A smiling woman in a wheelchair held a Firebolt in one hand and waved to him with the other.

“I think you should Owl her,” Hermione said.

He hugged her tightly.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair. “As always, I owe you . . .”

She waved her hand at him. “Nonsense,” she said. “Go shrink that silly car and go home.”

 

Draco nearly mowed him down the second he walked through the door. He zoomed at Harry so fast that Harry had to cast _Impedimenta_ or Draco would’ve barrelled into him. At first he couldn’t tell if Draco was assaulting him, but then he saw the tears of relief on Draco’s face.

“Harry,” he sobbed. He looked so exhausted and broken that Harry dropped his beloved Roadster and fell on his knees in front of Draco, wrapping his arms around him.

“I’m so sorry,” Draco choked. “I’ve been so worried. If anything happened to you . . .”

Harry cupped his face and kissed him quiet.

“It’s okay,” he said, pulling away only far enough to speak and then leaning forward to resume their kiss.

But Draco turned his head.

“No, it _isn’t_ okay,” he said fiercely. “The things I said were unforgiveable. You shouldn’t forgive me, Harry. I don’t deserve it.”

“Shut it and kiss me, Malfoy,” Harry growled.

He didn’t even give Draco a chance to protest, and they kissed desperately, clutching each other’s shirts.

“Can’t live without you,” Draco said after a minute.

“Yes, you can. You can do anything you want to.”

“Then I don’t want to; I don’t want to live without you.”

“Okay,” Harry said, grinning into their kiss. “That I’ll accept.”

“Make love with me,” Draco whispered. “I need to know we’re okay.”

Harry nodded and sat back on his heels.

“How do you want me? I’ll do anything you want.”

“Let me fuck you.”

Despite everything that’d happened during the last couple of days – or maybe because of it – Harry’s heart lurched with desire.

“God, yes,” he gasped. “Just tell me what you need.”

“I need a dildo and lube.”

“I think I can arrange that,” Harry said, standing up.

“Wait,” Draco said and grabbed his hand. “Let me suck you first. I want to taste you.”

Harry’s cock stiffened as he opened his jeans and pushed them down to the middle of his thighs. Draco grasped his shaft greedily. He stroked it for a while before leaning forward and wrapping his lips around it.

Harry groaned and slid his fingers into Draco’s hair, feeling Draco’s head bob as he worked to pleasure him.

“Not too much,” Harry gasped. “I want to come when you fuck me.”

Draco pulled back, a thick strand of spit connecting his mouth and the head of Harry’s cock. Harry whimpered and summoned the requested items.

“Sofa,” Draco said roughly. “Now.”

He wheeled over to the sofa, and Harry helped him out of his chair.

“Get undressed and turn around.”

Harry took of his jeans.

“Now bend over.”

“Put it in me!” 

Draco groaned and seized his hips, tugging him closer, and a moment later, Harry felt a slippery finger enter him tenderly.

“Don’t want to be prepared; just lube it and shove it in.”

Draco’s laugh was low and gravelly.

“Demanding,” he said and then blew on Harry’s arsehole, making it flex open at the same instant he penetrated it deeply.

Harry grunted from the abrupt sensation and pushed backwards, impaling himself on the intrusion as Draco began pulling it out and pushing it back in again. Harry reached back and seized his wrist.

“Can I sit on your lap?”

Draco made a sound that was a cross between a purr and a growl and helped Harry turn around. Harry straddled his hips and wriggled his bare arse in Draco’s lap. Draco was wearing jeans and the rough denim felt good against his balls. He leaned forward and kissed Draco breathless.

“How many glasses of water?” he asked against Draco’s mouth.

He felt Draco smirk. 

“Enough.”

Harry moaned again and began pumping his hips, rubbing Draco’s cock into its partial erection. Draco reached around him and grabbed the base of the dildo and fucked Harry with it as hard and deep as he could.

“Tell me,” he pleaded.

Harry braced his hands on the back of the couch and began thrusting in a rhythm that was going to make him come as quickly as possible. He was frantic for Draco to start pissing, and he’d only start when Harry was on the brink of climaxing. 

“Close,” he gasped.

“Me too,” Draco gasped in reply.

And then he felt it. Wet warmth spreading under his arse, soaking Draco’s lap. Harry wriggled and thrust trying to get as close to the swollen head of Draco’s cock as he could so he could feel the urine flow from its source while at the same time fucking himself on the intrusion buried inside him

“More,” he said brokenly. “Don’t stop.”

“Fuck yourself on my cock, Harry,” Draco whispered against his ear, and Harry’s hips snapped into overdrive.

“Tell me,” Harry gasped. 

“Your arse feels so good – so tight. I’m coming in it. I’m coming so hard . . .”

Draco’s voice was ragged with need as his piss kept soaking the denim between Harry’s trembling legs.

“My cock is throbbing inside you . . .”

“I can feel it . . .”

“I can’t stop coming . . . Your arse feels so good . . . Squeeze tighter . . .”

Even though he knew it wasn’t real – that Draco wasn’t actually fucking him with his cock – Harry felt like he was. He squeezed every muscle in his arse around the dildo and cried out when it triggered his orgasm.

“That’s right, Harry . . . Come on my cock . . . Take it deeper . . . ride it.”

Harry cried out again when another shock of pleasure hit him at Draco’s words. Draco pumped the dildo faster.

“Don’t stop pissing yet . . . !”

Harry felt Draco laugh against his throat.

“My bladder’s empty. I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait until I drink more water. Pull off my cock, Harry. I want to eat you out.”

Harry raised himself onto his knees and because Draco was holding the base of the dildo, it felt like it was Draco’s spent cock slipping out of him. He stood up, his legs still weak and turned around. He braced his hands on the coffee table, pushing his arse back toward Draco’s face. Soon he felt Draco’s hands opening him and then Draco’s soft wet tongue breached his opening. He moaned contently and let Draco give him another knee-buckling orgasm.

That night they fell asleep with their limbs entwined and slept like logs.

* * * *

Harry liked Tatiana the moment he met her.

She was cheerful but not nauseatingly sweet and tough but not unfriendly.

And she could fly like an angel despite having suffered a spinal cord injury even more serious than Draco’s. Unlike Draco she was not in control of her bodily functions, couldn’t sit without support and had limited use of her hands. She was candid and unashamed by her condition, which immediately put Harry at ease and made him feel comfortable asking delicate questions.

“My boyfriend’s not going to like that I’m hiring you,” he said frankly. “Are you used to dealing with difficult clients?”

Tatiana laughed. “Most of my clients are difficult in one way or another,” she said. “So, yes. I’ve had a great deal of experience in that regard. How adept was he at flying before he was paralysed?”

“He was the best,” Harry said, flushing with pride. “He would’ve been drafted by one of the national teams if he . . .”

He shut himself up abruptly.

“If he, what?” she asked gently.

“If he hadn’t been a Death Eater,” Harry said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“You’re Harry Potter,” she said frankly. “I trust your judgment more than anyone else’s when it comes to former Death Eaters.”

He nodded gratefully.

“Thank you.”

“Back to what really matters: you say Draco would’ve been drafted. What position would he have played?”

“Seeker,” Harry said proudly. “Like me. We were schoolboy rivals. I was captain of Gryffindor’s team, and he was Slytherin’s.”

She smiled.

“I was in Slytherin myself. I bet you’d like to play against him again.”

“More than anything,” Harry replied.

“I won’t make promises I might not be able to keep, but I think we can at least get him on a broom again. Can he sit without back support of some kind?”

“I’m pretty sure. Yes.”

“And you say he’s not incontinent.”

Harry nodded.

“Good, that means his injury is specific, but incomplete. He’s lucky.”

Harry bristled.

“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” he said stiffly.

“Trust me,” she said. “Comparatively speaking, he is. He can control when he urinates and defecates.”

She lifted her trouser legs to reveal a drainage bag.

Harry blushed. “I’m sorry,” he stammered.

“Don’t be. Now, does he have any feeling in his legs?”

Harry shook his head. 

“Not at all.”

“How about his bum?”

Harry shook his head again. “He can’t feel anything from his hips down, but everything up from there is fine – better than fine, actually.”

She looked pleased.

“Excellent,” she said. “He’s the perfect candidate for rehabilitation. Is he undergoing physical therapy?”

“Yes. Since almost immediately after the accident.”

“Brilliant. How has that gone?”

Harry couldn’t suppress another proud smile.

“His therapist has been amazed. He’s got a lot of strength in his arms and shoulders and abdomen.”

She winked at him.

“He sounds pretty hot.”

“He is,” Harry said emphatically.

“Then it’s a good thing he’s gay because I might try to steal him away from you. When do you want to start?”

Harry took a deep breath. 

“I’d like it to be as soon as possible,” he said. “But he isn’t going to like this one bit.”

“Then let’s wait until June. Just being outside in the warm weather will make everything a lot easier. Trust me. I have years of experience working with people with spinal injuries – and prickly Slytherins.”

Harry shook her hand.

“June first then.”

“I’ll meet you at the pitch in Hyde Park,” she said. “One o’clock sharp. Make sure he wears comfortable loose fitting clothing.”

“Thanks,” Harry said sincerely. “If this works, I’ll be forever in your debt.”

“No more than all of us are in yours,” she said solemnly. “Helping your boyfriend to fly again is the least I can do to thank you for your many sacrifices, Auror Potter.”

* * * *

“He assures me he has the biggest cock in the business. He even guarantees it – if we can find another whore with a bigger cock, he’ll give us our down-payment back.”

Harry laughed so hard that he almost dropped the bottles of salad dressing he was holding; he’d been trying to decide whether to get balsamic vinaigrette or blue cheese. He’d been leaning toward blue cheese before Draco had caused him to forget entirely what it was he was doing.

Draco had been “interviewing” prostitutes all week. He told Harry he was looking for a burly bloke larger than Harry who was extremely straight-looking and had “the biggest cock in the known universe.” 

_I want to pretend that fucking your arse is so sweet that it can turn a hetero rugby player into a homo_ , he’d said when Harry had questioned him about his criteria.

 _Why do you think you’d have to pretend_? he’d replied.

Finally, Draco had made his choice, and they’d invited the man (“who comes highly recommended,” said Draco, “and, yes, the pun is intentional”) for dinner (among other things), hence Harry’s dilemma over the salad dressing.

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter. Just get them both.”

Good idea; Harry put both bottles in their cart and headed for the fruit and veg section. Draco wheeled after him, making people get out of his way while muttering remarks about people’s unwillingness to accommodate the disabled. He loved to make them stammer needless apologies. Harry thought it was obnoxious, but he didn’t say anything. Draco clearly got a great deal of enjoyment out of making strangers uncomfortable, and who was Harry to spoil his fun?

“Do we have enough Pellegrino at home?” he called. “They’re having a sale.”

Draco laughed. “Is there any such thing as too much Pellegrino?”

Harry heartily agreed. He bought every last bottle off the shelf.

 

The man arrived precisely on time, and Draco paid the rest of his fee upfront. He was handsome, but not really Harry’s type – he liked lean graceful bodies, and the man was barrel-chested with thighs the size of tree trunks and an arse that look like it was made of moulded steel. When he wasn’t serving his clients, he probably spent the rest of his time at the gym.

But Draco was clearly very pleased.

“He’s going to fuck your brains out,” he whispered when the man went to the loo.

Harry got undressed under Draco’s scorching gaze and cast the necessary protective spells, but he didn’t stretch or lubricate his arsehole. He didn’t want the man to prepare him – he’d insisted that that be Draco’s job.

“Bend over the arm of the sofa,” Draco said breathlessly, and Harry complied. Draco wheeled himself close enough that he could lean forward and part Harry’s arse cheeks with his hands. Harry heard him inhale deeply, savouring the scent with a moan.

“Hold yourself open,” Draco said after a moment.

Harry felt Draco circle the rim of his opening with a slippery fingertip and then press against the puckered flesh in the centre until it gave under his touch ever so slightly.

“God, you’re so tight. I’m going to fuck you so hard.”

Harry groaned and pushed his hips back, trying to impale himself on Draco’s finger.

“Slower,” Draco whispered. “I want to feel you taking me in.”

When at last his finger was in as deep as it could go, Draco began sliding it in and out just as slowly as he’d put it in. Harry squeezed his sphincter muscles and heard Draco’s breath catch.

“I’m going to come in your arse,” he gasped. “There’s going to be more come in you than you can handle.”

Harry wriggled his arse, trying to get Draco to press against his prostate, crying out when he did.

“Fuck,” came a deep guttural voice from behind them. “No plug? Christ, his arse is gonna be tight. Where do you want us?” he asked Draco.

“On the rug. I cast cushioning charms so your knees won’t hurt. I want you to take your time.”

He backed away from Harry, and Harry turned around just in time to watch Draco sniff the finger that’d been in Harry’s arse before reaching between his legs and cupping his balls.

“They’re so full for you,” he told Harry, his eyes intense with unfettered desire. “I’m going to empty them in your arse. Now help me out of my chair and put me on the sofa,” he told the burly man, who proceeded to lift him as though he was no heavier than a feather.

Shit, Harry thought. The man was going to fuck him like a stud bull. His cock twitched, dislodging a drop of fluid from the swollen head. The man stripped off his clothes. His cock was enormous and dark purple with thick protruding veins. Harry had never seen a bigger cock in his life.

“Don’t make him come,” Draco instructed the man as he settled into the couch for the show. “His orgasm is mine and mine alone.”

The man nodded his understanding.

“How do you want me to fuck him?” he asked.

Harry thought it was odd being discussed as though he wasn’t there – odd but hot.

“On his knees and forearms, sideways to me,” Draco panted, already clearly very aroused. His hand was kneading his balls as though he had feeling in them. “I want to watch your cock sliding in and out of his arse.”

Harry positioned himself as Draco directed and spread his legs, canting his arse in the air.

The man growled his obvious appreciation, and Harry heard him wanking as he slicked his cock with lube.

“Don’t forget for even a second, Harry,” Draco said fiercely. “That cock that’s going to be shoved up your arse is _mine_. If you want to be fucked harder or deeper, you’re going to ask _me_ , not him.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“Fuck him like it’s the last time you’re going to fuck in your life,” Draco told the man. “Give him all you’ve got. Fuck his brains out, and then tell me when you’re about to come.”

“Oh, it’ll be obvious,” the man said. “I howl like a beast when I come, especially when I’m fucking an arse as sweet as this one.”

He caressed Harry’s arse appreciatively for a moment, and then Harry felt the head of the man’s huge cock nudge his entrance.

“Beg me,” Draco demanded hoarsely. “You’re going to have to beg for me to stick my cock in you, Harry.”

Harry groaned brokenly.

“Please, Draco! I need you so much! Fuck me, please!”

Draco must’ve given the man permission because all of a sudden the huge head of his cock breached Harry’s arsehole. He cried out in delicious pain as the man grunted loudly and pushed his rigid cock even deeper. Harry couldn’t even move his hips – between the man’s huge hands and his massive cock, he was completely immobilised.

“Tell me,” Draco said, panting shallowly. “Both of you.”

“I’m never had a sweeter tighter arse,” the man moaned. He started pumping his cock inside Harry’s body, and every time he thrust forward he grunted obscenely like a grizzly bear. “I’m going to fuck it open with my fucking enormous cock and come in his guts.”

Draco made a sound Harry had never heard before. It was so saturated with lust that it made Harry’s cock throb and leak.

“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me how it feels, Harry – my cock fucking your arse, tell me!”

“So good,” Harry gasped, barely able to catch his breath because the man was quite literally fucking the breath out of his lungs. “I’m . . . I’m going to lose my mind, Draco. Please! Harder!”

Draco must’ve given the man a signal of his approval because all of a sudden Harry found himself with his cheek pressed against the rug as the man started fucking him through the floor. His heavy hairy balls slapped against Harry’s, making a meaty sound. 

“Draco!” he cried out, over and over and over, struggling to breathe between each brutal thrust.

The man grabbed his hips and held them still, groaning and grunting and swearing. Harry could smell his sweat as it dripped on his back.

“Fucking Christ!” the man bellowed. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

He yanked Harry’s hips back toward his pelvis at the same time he thrust into his arse and then did it again and again.

“Tell me when you’re about to come,” Draco said, his voice as savage as the thrusts the man was impaling Harry with.

“Any second now,” the man grunted brokenly, his hips jerking, breaking the rhythm of his thrusts. “Shit! Oh fuck! Jesus! Shit! Fuck!”

“Look at me, Harry,” Draco said fiercely.

Harry turned his head so that he had a clear unobstructed view of Draco’s crotch. He knew what was going to happen any second now, and it made him feel faint with need.

“Shit! I’m coming!” the man roared, and at the same instant, Draco started pissing with a deep groan of release.

“Do you feel it, Harry?” he sobbed and gasped. “Me coming inside you?”

Draco placed his hands on his knees and spread his legs even wider than they already were as piss soaked his jeans and the couch beneath him.

It wasn’t hard to pretend. Harry could feel the man’s cock and balls throb as they pumped out massive amounts of come, filling him. He stared at the wet denim between Draco’s legs, as Draco kept urinating and moaning deep in his throat.

“Holy fucking shit!” the man groaned. “Holy fucking Christ! That is the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen!”

He pulled out of Harry’s arse suddenly with a loud suctioning sound.

“Put your head in his lap,” the man growled and helped reposition Harry so that Harry could bury his face between Draco’s legs. Harry grabbed Draco’s hips and started sucking the salty piss from Draco’s jeans. He felt Draco place his hands on his head as though Harry was sucking his cock.

The man pressed his still-rigid cock in Harry’s arse and began pumping his hips, fucking him deeply. Draco was still pissing, and everything was so warm and wet. Harry whimpered shamelessly as he canted his arse, and took the man’s gigantic cock in as far as he could, squeezing tightly until he saw spots.

The man’s response to the changes in Harry’s body was immediate. 

“I’m going shot my fucking load again!” he groaned raggedly. “Shit, I’m going to come! Jesus, you two are fucking _hot_ as fuck! Shit!Shit!Jesus!Fucking!Shit!AAHHH!!”

Draco began moving Harry’s head in a bobbing motion simulating a blow job, and Harry couldn’t take it another second. He reached between his own legs and started wanking, his hand wet with Draco’s urine, and his arsehole contracting around the huge intrusion inside it. The man practically screamed.

“Oh my god, Harry,” Draco sobbed.

With a guttural cry, the man suddenly jerked his cock out of Harry’s arse, and Harry felt thick globs of hot come hit his shoulders and back as the man panted and grunted his release, all the time swearing like a sailor.

And Harry came imagining it was Draco who was coming all over him. He opened his mouth against Draco’s piss soaked crotch but he came so hard he couldn’t breathe deeply enough to shout Draco’s name. All he could do was whimper, his whole body shaking between Draco’s legs.

Harry sat back on his heels when the man stood up and looked up at Draco’s face, praying he’d see there the pleasure he’d wanted to give him.

Draco’s eyes were half-closed and black with blown pupils. He was clutching the sofa so tightly that his knuckles were white. He looked like he might pass out. The flush that usually covered his throat and upper chest stretched down to his navel, and his chest heaved with shallow pants. His nipples were dark and raw from being pinched and tugged mercilessly.

Harry had seen Draco aroused before, but never _this_ much. They sat looking at each other for a long time.

“No words,” Draco whispered. “There are _no words_. Give me you hand.”

Harry sat back and held out his come soaked hand. Draco seized him by the wrist and began licking his palm and sucking on his fingers.

They heard a deep groaned “Shit!” and the sound of wanking, but neither of them averted their gazes from each other’s. After a couple minutes, they heard the man start to grunt and his hand speed up.

“Come in his hair,” Draco growled.

The man moved to stand astride Harry’s back as his grunts grew louder and more obscene. Harry lowered his face into Draco’s lap again and gripped Draco’s thighs.

“I’m going to come again,” he said low enough that only Harry could hear him, and Harry felt new warm urine flood Draco’s lap at the same moment the man bellowed that he was coming, and Harry felt more hot globs of come hit the back of his head. Draco sobbed and wove his fingers into Harry’s sticky hair as he kept pissing until his bladder was empty.

Harry heard footsteps walking down the hall to the loo and then a door open and close.

“Okay?” Draco murmured and cupped Harry’s chin so he could raise Harry’s head and look deep into his eyes.

Harry could only nod. His mind was completely blown by what they’d just done.

After a couple of minutes, they heard footsteps returning to the living room, and Harry sat back on his heels and looked up at the man’s face. It was flushed, and, like Draco, his pupils eclipsed the brown irises of his eyes.

“I should give you your money back,” he said, his voice serious. “I have never come twice in a session, let alone three times. You two are hotter than fuck.”

He took his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Draco.

“Call me,” he said. “If I’m already scheduled, I’ll reschedule to accommodate you. If I’m in the midst of a session, I’ll cut it short.”

Harry looked at Draco and saw a familiar self-satisfied smirk.

“Does that mean you’ll charge us only half-price,” he drawled.

“Fuck half-price,” the man said, his voice still hoarse. “I’ll give you your sessions for free. In fact, _I_ should pay _you_. I just got off like I’ve never got before. Blew my fucking mind, it did.”

Draco laughed, sounding pleased and amused.

“You’re a man with a business to think of,” he said. “Don’t give away your more than satisfactory services. I’ll be glad to pay full price to watch you fuck my boyfriend into the rug again. I’m willing to bet he won’t be able to sit at his desk tomorrow without a cushion.”

Harry winced and blushed and rolled his eyes all at the same time. He went to stand up, but the man held up his hand.

“Stay where you are,” he said, smiling broadly. “I’ll see myself out. Oh, and don’t forget the shampoo tonight. Spunk’s hard to get out of your hair after it dries, especially mine – it’s pretty fucking potent.” He winked at them and left. They could hear him whistling cheerfully all the way down the hall to the stairs.

* * * *

It was a serious dilemma: Should he tell Draco ahead of time? Or just take him to Hyde Park and surprise him?

If he told Draco ahead of time, Draco might be furious and force Harry to cancel, but if Harry just took him to Hyde Park without saying anything, Draco might be just as furious that he’d been “ambushed.”

 _Just bring him_ , Tatiana Owled him when Harry asked her advice. _He’ll have less of a fit in a public place in front of a stranger than he’d have if it was just the two of you alone at home_.

Hermione agreed, which had made up his mind. Hermione never gave him bad advice, and for some reason she seemed to “just get” Draco – odd as that was.

 

June first was sunny and warm, and Draco was eager to get outside. They were just finishing a late breakfast (after a morning of sex and a subsequent post-sex restorative nap) when Harry said as nonchalantly as possible that he had a good idea for something to do for the afternoon.

Draco nicked a piece of toast off Harry’s plate and slathered it with marmalade.

“Yes?”

Harry took a deep breath.

“Let’s go to Hyde Park – the wizarding part.”

Draco frowned.

“That’s a long way from here,” he said after washing down his toast with the last of his tea.

“We can take my car . . .”

“No!” Draco snapped, and Harry kicked himself for forgetting how much Draco hated his little roadster

“We can take the Knight Bus.”

Draco turned slightly green at the suggestion.

“There’s never been a time when I’ve taken that bloody bus that I haven’t got sick.”

“Er, then how about a taxi?”

Draco scowled. He hated travelling like a Muggle.

“I hate that I can’t Apparate,” he muttered, “or fly.”

He sighed unhappily, which only made Harry more determined to get him to the park – and _hopefully_ (please, God!) on a broom.

“Can’t we just go to _our_ park?”

It was Harry’s turn to sigh. He was so tired of “their” park.

“C’mon, Draco. It’s a beautiful day. Let’s try something new . . .”

Then it came to him!

“What if I firecalled Ron and Pansy to see if they can go with us? We could take their new flying car.”

Draco perked up. Harry knew he’d been wanting to try the car, and plus Pansy would be with them. She always knew how to calm Draco down when he got in a snit.

Fortunately Ron and Pansy were home and didn’t have plans for the afternoon. Pansy even offered to put together a picnic lunch. 

“We’ll meet you in the empty car park behind the museum,” Ron said.

When Harry stood up and turned around, he saw that Draco was smiling broadly. Harry knew why. Draco hated going places that Harry had to push him to; he always wanted to wheel himself as a matter of pride. The museum wasn’t terribly far away and the pavement was smooth.

Pansy was driving and her landing was impeccable; much better than Ron’s would’ve been. Ron got out of the passenger-side door, and Harry helped Draco get in before shrinking his chair and joining Ron in the backseat. 

Pansy smiled and kissed Draco’s cheek.

“Lovely to see you, darling. You look dashing.”

“Dashing? In jeans and one of Harry’s nasty old t-shirts? For some reason he wanted me to dress like he used to when we were First Years.”

He held the t-shirt out to show Pansy the faded logo for Puma Sprint trainers.

“Very gauchely Muggle, don’t you agree?”

“Buy your own t-shirts then,” Harry groused.

When Draco and Pansy started gossiping intently about their fellow Slytherins, Harry leaned toward Ron.

“Listen,” he whispered. “You know the Hyde Park pitch?”

“Yeah, nicest in London, if you ask me.”

“Well, we need to go there.”

Ron turned his head and frowned at him.

“I thought we couldn’t go near anything that might remind him of Quidditch.”

Harry took a deep breath. Except for Hermione, he hadn’t told anyone about Tatiana.

“Don’t let on,” he whispered, “but I’ve hired someone who might be able to help Draco fly again.”

“Does he know?”

Harry winced.

“Er . . .”

“Shit, he doesn’t know. Harry, are you mad? He’s going to hex your bollocks off.”

“Which is why I need you and Pansy to stay with us.”

Ron groaned.

“Lovely. This is exactly what I’d hoped to do today – cast _Protego_ in an effort to save your arse when Malfoy tries to separate you from your bollocks. I’m glad we’re paying a million Galleons for a babysitter. Thanks for the heads-up, mate.”

 

The instant Draco realised they were flying in the direction of the pitch, he turned around to look at Harry.

“Potter . . .”

Then he looked down and saw Tatiana in her wheelchair waving up at them.

“Potter,” he said again. His voice was low and level, which was never a good sign. “What have you done?”

Harry swallowed.

“Land here, baby,” Ron said, “then draw your wand and run for cover.”

Harry smiled weakly, hoping he could get Draco to smile as well, but Draco was stony-faced. His eyes were hard and dark with anger.

Pansy landed the car near Tatiana, and she wheeled over them. They all got out except for Draco who had his arms crossed and was staring straight ahead. Harry could tell he was shaking and felt horribly guilty. Why on earth had he thought this was a good idea?

“Hiya, Harry,” Tatiana said and shook his hand.

“This is Ron and Pansy,” Harry muttered, gesturing weakly at them.

“Hello,” Tatiana said cheerfully. “And from the scowl I see on the face of the handsome man in the car, I’m guessing he must be your boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” Harry said and then leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“I think perhaps we shouldn’t go through with this. He’s extreme upset.”

She nodded.

“I can tell. Why don’t the three of you go for a nice leisurely walk?”

Harry was alarmed. He glanced at Draco, who was pale and still shaking.

“I don’t think I should leave him . . .”

“But that’s exactly what you need to do. Harry, you’re paying a lot of Galleons for me because I’m very _very_ good at what I do, and plus, like I said the other day, I’m a Slytherin. I know how the Slytherin brain works.”

Harry bit his lip, but then he nodded and straightened.

“Let’s go look at the Grindylow pond,” he called to Pansy and Ron, and then, at Tatiana’s instruction, he retrieved Draco’s chair from the boot and then left without saying anything to Draco or even looking back.

 

It was one of the worst afternoons of his life. Pansy had put together a fabulous lunch, but Harry couldn’t even eat. His stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out. When he even declined a mimosa, Pansy reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“What you did,” she said, sounding a bit like she was choking up, “. . . what you’ve done for him. He’s so lucky he has you.”

“He’s never going to forgive me,” Harry said weakly. “I’ve really fucked up.”

“I don’t know about that,” Pansy said. “It’s almost evening. Let’s go back and see how he’s doing.”

They were just walking over the little hill that marked the edge of the pitch when Harry saw him.

Draco was sitting astride a broom and hovering about five feet in the air. Moreover, he and Tatiana were laughing their arses off about something, clearly enjoying one another’s company.

But best of all Draco’s face was radiant, and his cheeks were a healthy pink from sun and exertion.

“See,” Pansy said, nudging Harry in the ribs. “You need to trust your instincts more when it comes to him. You love him madly. Your heart would never let you do something that it thought might hurt him.”

“Merlin’s knickers, Pans,” Ron said. “Since when were you such a sap?”

She laughed and kissed him, and he picked her up and swung her around until the picnic basket in her hand flew open, and the grass around them was strewn with plates and silverware and half-eaten baguettes.

Despite Draco’s apparent good mood, Harry still approached him cautiously. Just because things had gone well didn’t mean that Draco wasn’t still furious at him for having “tricked” him.

“Potter!” Draco yelled. “You better get some flying practise or I’m going to kick your flabby arse!”

Harry laughed and ran across the pitch toward him.

“Flabby?” he panted as he trotted up to Draco, grinning like an idiot. “That’s not what you said last night.”

“Ugh,” said Ron. “Please do not subject me to any more remarks like that. I haven’t finished digesting my lunch yet.”

“Shut it, Weasley,” Draco said amiably. He dipped nearer to the ground and beckoned Harry closer to him.

“Straddle the broom and face me,” Draco whispered. “And hold my waist to keep me steady.”

Harry did what he said, and then Draco was kissing him breathless.

“I am going to make you a very _very_ happy man tonight,” he murmured against Harry’s ear, and then they kissed again until Ron groaned like he was dying from a head wound.

“Next week then?” Tatiana asked.

Draco suddenly looked crestfallen.

“I have to wait until next week?”

Harry laughed and wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck.

“It’s very important that you get some rest between sessions,” Tatiana said. “And I’m sure Harry wouldn’t mind helping you practise. He looks every enthusiastic.”

Harry grinned at her and then let go of Draco to hug her too.

“Thank you,” he whispered fiercely against her ear. “ _Thank you_.”

* * * *

“I must have the strongest bladder muscles in the world,” Draco said, patting his belly. “Too bad there are no competitions for longest duration of urine retention.”

“You could start a club,” Harry suggested, topping off Draco’s umpteenth glass of Pellegrino.

“It would be a very dull sport. All the competitors would be doing is drinking water and sitting until they’re about to burst and have to sprint to the loo. I doubt we’d secure any corporate sponsors – except maybe the makers of adult diapers.” 

“Hmm, you may have a point there. More pasta?”

Draco shook his head and pushed his plate away.

“Have to stay lean for Quidditch.” He smirked at Harry. “Unlike some people who’ve already had two servings and look to be angling for a third.”

Harry shook his head fondly and poured himself an after-dinner glass of ice wine – another one of Draco’s many influences.

“So,” Draco said, leaning back in his wheelchair and holding his stem glass of Pellegrino between his fingers as though it was a flute of champagne. “You’ve had more than ample time to tell me what you want tonight. Besides treacle tart, which will most certainly keep for a couple of hours while we’re otherwise occupied.”

Harry blushed, his face very hot, and looked away. He hadn’t felt this shy around Draco for a long time . . . but this was not an everyday kind of request.

Neither was it something he’d just thought up that evening; in fact, he’d been thinking about it – and even doing a little research – for weeks. He hadn’t been sure he’d find the nerve to even mention it, let alone ask for it. But Draco was so happy and so grateful, and he so clearly desired to give something special and important to Harry in gratitude for hiring Tatiana . . . maybe he could ask tonight. If Draco was horrified, they could just forget about it. Harry could even laugh it off . . .

. . . but what if he agreed?

Harry pretended he was closing his eyes in order to better savour his ice wine, when in fact he’d got a little dizzy from the mere thought that Draco would grant him his wish.

“Well?”

“Er.”

Draco arched an eyebrow.

“Your silence is ominous. Please tell me it doesn’t involve Pygmy Puffs.”

Harry laughed so hard he got wine up his nose, which did not feel particularly nice.

“No Pygmy Puffs,” he wheezed.

“Thank Merlin. I think I can handle anything as long as it doesn’t require rainbow hued vermin.”

“No vermin,” Harry assured him. “No kind of animal at all, in fact.”

Draco wiped his brow as though he’d broken out in an anxious sweat.

After a moment, Harry filled his glass again. He couldn’t look directly at Draco’s face, so he stared down at the grain in the oak table. A silent seriousness slowly filled the room, leaving only the sounds of tires on wet pavement and the occasional distant siren to punctuate the sound of the steady rain against the windows.

“Harry,” Draco said softly.

Harry took a deep breath and released it.

“I want you to make me pregnant.”

When Draco didn’t say anything, Harry risked a glance at him.

Draco was looking at him, but his expression was more bewildered than disgusted.

“You want _what_?” he asked.

“I said,” Harry whispered, “I want you to make me pregnant.”

Draco arched both eyebrows at him.

“Uhm, you do realise that men can’t get pregnant, right? Or have you discovered that your superior magical abilities make you different?”

Harry bit back a nervous laugh.

“Of course I know that men can’t get pregnant.”

“And even if they could, I wouldn’t be able to do the job because, as you well know, I can’t . . . Oh!”

Harry swallowed as he watched understanding fill Draco’s wide eyes.

“Oh,” he said again, much softer this time.

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine,” Harry started to babble. “I mean, I know it’s pretty weird, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable . . .”

He stopped when he realised that Draco’s surprise was rapidly giving way to arousal.

“Wow,” Draco breathed. “ _Wow_ . . .”

Harry blushed again.

“Yeah, I guess I’m pretty darn kinky.”

“Oh my God . . .” Draco said, his voice still no louder than a whisper. “You’d do that for me? Harry, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

Harry felt his own eyes widen with surprise.

“So, you’d . . . you want this?”

Draco eyes filled with disbelieving tears.

“I’ve wanted this for _ages_ ,” he said. “I was just too terrified to say anything. I thought it might finally push you over the edge . . .”

“It might push me over the edge,” Harry replied. “But a very different type of edge than you mean.”

Draco closed his eyes and swallowed audibly. He’d set down his glass of Pellegrino, which was a good thing because he was trembling all over. He swallowed again.

“But how?” he whispered hoarsely.

“I . . . I’ve been doing a little research,” Harry said. “We’re not the only two people in the world doing what we do. Other people have tried it . . .”

“But probably those people are heterosexual couples. A vagina is much more open and easier to penetrate than an arsehole.”

“Hence the plug I bought.”

Draco inhaled sharply. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Long enough. And I hope you won’t be shocked when I tell you I have the plug in right now. I was hoping I’d find the courage to ask you tonight.”

“I’m so glad you did.”

Draco wheeled around the table until he was close enough to simultaneously kiss Harry and put his hands between Harry’s legs.

“You’re so hard,” he murmured, kneading Harry’s cock. “You want this so much, don’t you?”

“More than you can imagine,” Harry murmured back, thrusting his hips up against Draco’s hand.

“You want me to come inside you.” Draco’s voice was rough with hunger. “You want me to fill you with my come. You want me to fuck you and empty my balls in your arse.”

Harry groaned in affirmation and tilted his head back. Draco was no longer the only one trembling.

“I’m going to make you pregnant, Harry. My come is going to make you pregnant. There’s going to be so much of it that you won’t be able to hold it all in.”

Harry spread his legs and moved closer to the edge of his chair so that Draco could reach lower and feel the base of the plug.

“Fuck,” Draco moaned. “Can’t wait much longer – my balls are aching . . . where should we go?”

“Bed,” Harry gasped. “Now.”

“You go first and get yourself ready. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Hurry!”

Draco smirked. “A horny little virgin, are we?”

Harry lost his mind just a little bit more when he got the message Draco was conveying to him. Harry wasn’t just going to get pregnant, he was going to be a _virgin_.

“All it’ll take is one of my orgasms to knock you up,” Draco purred. “My come’s that potent. He wheeled back a little ways so that Harry had room to stand, and then he pulled off his shirt and drew his wand. He said a Transfiguration spell, and suddenly he was no longer holding a shirt but a white silk mid-thigh-length camisole with thin straps.

“Mmmm,” he said, handing it to Harry. “Looks like just your size.”

The silk was cool and caught slightly on the skin of Harry’s calloused hands. He closed his eyes and took a deep shaky breath. He couldn’t wait to feel it against his nipples and cock.

“Go get ready, my blushing bride,” Draco said with a wink.

Harry was breathing so fast and shallowly by the time he reached the bedroom that he started to feel light-headed and dizzy. He forced himself to sit down and take several deep inhalations before he got undressed.

The cool silk of the camisole against his hot skin felt even better than he’d imagined it would. He groaned as he tugged it down over his straining cock, enjoying the way it stuck to the head, which was already wet. He began stroking himself through the silk with a loose grip while at the same time pinching and tugging on his nipples, but he had to stop after only a few seconds; he was too close. He let go of his cock and reached around his back so he could pull out the plug. His arse was loose and slick with the copious amount of lube he’d prepared himself with. He shivered as he traced the sensitive skin with his finger before sliding it into his rectum, which was just as slick and ready as his sphincter.

He flicked his wand at the bed and changed the sheets from light blue cotton to Slytherin green satin, figuring that taking his new bride against his House colours would give Draco an added sense of power and virility. Harry knew that no matter what happened, it was going to be good for him, but he wanted it to be equally good for Draco.

He pulled back the corner of the duvet and slid under the sheets. The only light in the room came from a small lamp on the bureau. He waited, growing more and more excited, until finally he heard Draco enter the room and inhale sharply.

“God,” he said, swallowing audibly. 

He wheeled over to the bedside.

“Do you want help?” Harry asked, but Draco shook his head.

“I’m the one making the calls tonight,” he said sternly. “You just lie back and let me take care of you.”

It took less time that usual for Draco to get into bed and lie down beside Harry. When he was settled comfortably on his side, he reached out and tenderly tucked a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “I’ve been waiting for this moment all day. That stupid wedding reception couldn’t be over soon enough.”

Harry bit back a nervous laugh and instead gave Draco what he hoped was the kind of smile a nervous virgin would give her husband when she found herself at last in bed with him after Merlin only knows how many months of courtship.

Draco reached out and traced one of the camisole’s straps with a fingertip, making Harry shiver. Draco’s responding smile was both gently amused and covetous. He slid the strap off Harry’s shoulder and then propped himself on his elbow so he could kiss Harry’s throat and collarbone. Harry’s shiver turned into a light trembling as desire spiked in his chest.

“You smell so lovely,” Draco murmured against Harry’s skin.

Harry gasped when Draco placed his palm on Harry’s sternum and slid it down the length of Harry’s chest, stopping just short of his cock.

“Ssshhh.”

Draco hushed him with a fingertip pressed lightly against Harry’s lips.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m going to take care of you,” he said and then leaned down and kissed Harry sweetly and almost chastely. “It’s going to feel good. I promise.” 

He turned his head so he could mouth one of Harry’s nipples through the silk, sucking and licking gently, sending shocks of pure, undiluted pleasure through Harry’s entire body. He arched his back slightly in an effort to get closer to Draco’s warm, searching mouth.

“You like that,” Draco murmured before he turned his attention to Harry’s other nipple, mouthing and licking it until the silk around it was wet. And then he kissed both nipples lingeringly.

“Your body craves my touch. Your mind might still be afraid, but your body isn’t. It wants me. It wants me to mount you and put my cock inside you.”

He went back to sucking on Harry’s nipples, pulling them into his mouth and flicking them with the tip of his tongue.

“I wish I could taste your milk; I want to know how sweet it’ll be for our baby. But I won’t have to wait long before you start to lactate. I’m going to make you pregnant tonight. My come is going to make you pregnant.”

Harry whimpered. He’d never been so aroused.

“Please,” he gasped as Draco placed a possessive hand on his belly. 

“Nobody’s going to believe you weren’t pregnant before tonight because I’m going to do it the first time I come inside you. Everybody will wonder if you were still a virgin before I bedded you tonight, but we’ll know the truth, won’t we? Bend your legs, my darling.”

Harry obeyed with a sigh of surrender as though he really was waiting to be fucked for the first time. Draco heard it, and his breath hitched in his chest.

“I’m going to put a finger in you,” his whispered roughly against Harry’s ear. “Don’t be afraid. It’s going to feel good.”

He reached down, ignoring Harry’s cock, until he touched Harry’s loosened arsehole. Harry whimpered as Draco slipped his finger inside him.

“So wet,” Draco murmured. “You’re ready for me. You’re ready for my cock.”

He started fingering Harry and groaned deep in his chest when Harry pushed his arse against his hand.

“Baby,” he gasped. “You’re so eager, so tight.” He found Harry’s prostate, and Harry cried out.

“I could make you come with my finger, but I want to make you come with my cock. I want your first orgasm to squeeze the come out of my balls. But first I want to taste your juices.”

He threw back the duvet and sheets and pushed himself down toward the bottom of the bed so he could put his head between Harry’s bent knees. He placed his hands on Harry’s hips and slowly pushed up the camisole until it bunched around Harry’s waist.

“Put a pillow under your bum and pull your legs back, flower,” Draco said. 

Harry waited with held breath for the first touch of Draco’s tongue, and when he felt it, he sobbed with hunger. Draco’s touch was so tender but also unapologetically probing.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against Harry’s flexing hole. “I could eat you all night. Your flavours are so delicate and nuanced – better than the finest wine.”

After a couple of minutes, Draco stopped licking Harry’s arse and returned to fingering him, making sure that with every inward press of his finger, he touched Harry’s prostate until Harry needed to come so badly that he writhed against the satin sheets, and the camisole clung to his sweat-damp skin.

“It’s going to hurt at first when I put my cock in you, my angel. I’ll be as gentle as I can, but you have to understand that I’m a man and have needs. I’m going to want to bury my cock inside you and take you. My balls are so full of come.”

By this point, Harry was on the verge of losing his mind. He couldn’t stop moaning and whimpering and struggling to take Draco’s finger deeper . . .

But Draco was still wearing his pyjama bottoms, and Harry had no idea how he’d be able to put his only half-hard cock in Harry’s arse without taking them off first – after all, penetration was going to be difficult even without any impediment. He didn’t want to say anything and wreck Draco’s fantasy . . . but then Draco said the words Harry had been wanting to hear him say _forever_ – a Banishing spell used for the sole purpose of undressing.

Harry tried not to shake apart. For the first time since Draco’s injury, he was going to feel Draco’s bare legs and groin against his own. 

Once he was completely naked, Draco pulled himself up using the headboard until he and Harry were face to face again, and Draco’s hips were between Harry’s legs.

He could tell Draco was nervous as Harry drew his thighs back against his chest as far as he could, exposing and opening his arse.

“You’re going to have to help me,” Draco whispered, his voice quavering. Harry propped himself up on his elbows and reached between his legs until he found Draco’s swollen cock and then used its tip to find his entrance.

It took a distressingly long time to achieve penetration, and Harry was very aware of Draco’s heart pounding in his chest. But at last . . .

He groaned raggedly when he finally managed to push Draco’s cock inside him.

“Am I in?” Draco gasped.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are,” Harry gasped in reply.

“How does it feel? Tell me.”

Harry didn’t have to lie or pretend. It felt _amazing_. Draco was only partially hard, but his cock was big enough to begin with that it filled Harry’s arse quite nicely.

“So good,” Harry said, out of breath and panting.

“Can you really feel it?”

“Hell, yes, I can!”

Draco laughed breathlessly.

“I don’t think a virginal bride would swear like an Auror.”

Harry laughed and then arched his back to take Draco deeper.

“I can’t thrust,” Draco said. “You’re going to have to fuck yourself.”

“Now who sounds like an Auror?” 

They laughed again, but then they stopped talking because what was happening between them was too important to defile with silliness.

“Are you close?” Draco whispered after a couple of delicious minutes of moving against each other.

Harry could only nod. He’d been close forever, but he’d wanted this to last as long as he could make it.

“Do you think you can come when I do?” Draco asked.

“No ‘thinking’ about it. I know I can,” Harry whispered in reply.

“Just tell me when.”

Harry reached down and clutched Draco bare arse for the first time since that long ago night at Ron and Pansy’s engagement party. It felt good under his hands – not as muscular as it used to be, but still round and firm. He held Draco’s hips still and ground his cock against Draco’s pubic hair until his eyes watered from having held back for too long.

“Come for me, Draco,” he gasped. “Come for me!”

At first he couldn’t feel much, but then he felt liquid heat start to fill him. Draco was pissing in his arse! It blew Harry’s mind completely.

“I’m coming!” Draco cried out brokenly. “I’m coming, Harry. I’m coming inside you; I’m making you pregnant. Oh, God, I’m coming . . .”

Harry couldn’t take it another second. He threw back his head and arched against Draco’s chest and came all over the sweat-soaked camisole and both of their stomachs. He shook and shook and couldn’t stop shaking as he gasped and panted into the crook between Draco’s neck and shoulder.

It was a very long time before either of them spoke or even moved.

At last, Draco pushed himself up with his arms and looked down at Harry’s face. He looked just as awed and radiant as he’d looked on his broom that afternoon.

“Did you feel it?” he whispered, still sounding breathless.

Oh, yes,” Harry said emphatically. “It felt amazing.”

Draco blushed. “Do you think you still have any of it inside you?”

Draco had pissed for so long, and there’d been so much of it. Harry was pretty sure his arse still held some urine. He nodded.

“I think so.”

Draco’s blush deepened. 

“I want to watch it flow out.”

Harry groaned. He hadn’t planned on asking for it that night, given the thing he’d already asked for, but he’d been fantasizing about a piss enema for a long time.

“Me too,” he said roughly.

“When I pull out, clench your arse as much as you can and then go to the tub. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Harry placed his hands on Draco’s hips and pushed them up until Draco’s cock slipped out with a gush of piss. Harry instant squeezed his sphincter and got up. He and Draco both watched a trickle of urine flow down the insides of Harry’s thighs and puddle on the wood floor.

“Tub,” Draco rasped, his eyes riveted to the sight. “I’ll be able to see it better.”

The walk to the bathroom was awkward. Harry was pretty sure he looked like a constipated troll, but he didn’t care. The feeling of being full was intensely arousing, and he felt his cock stiffening.

It seemed like he’d been standing in the tub for an _eternity_ when Draco finally wheeled in. Harry noticed with disappointment that he’d put on his pyjama bottoms again.

“Ready?” Harry squeaked once Draco had positioned himself for the best view.

“Poor Harry,” Draco purred. “Yes, I’m more than ready. Let go as slowly as you can.”

Draco had barely stopped speaking when Harry started to relax his anal muscles. The piss trickled out of his body and down his legs, pooling at his feet. The contrast between yellow and gleaming white porcelain was gorgeous. 

And it felt so good. Almost as good as coming.

Draco groaned loudly and starting tugging on his nipples.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for forever,” he said. “You’re hard, Harry. Make yourself come.”

But watching Draco’s piss flow over his skin had given him another idea.

“Piss on me,” he whispered.

Draco’s eyes flew open, but not with arousal. He suddenly looked positively terrified.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no!”

Harry frowned, feeling disappointed . . . and slightly hurt at having a fantasy rejected so vehemently.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so!”

“But _why_?” Harry pleaded. “I don’t understand. It’s not like you haven’t pissed on me before . . .”

“But I’d not been naked when I did it, that’s why!” Draco shouted at him. “I always had trousers on!”

Harry blinked at him, but then understanding took root in his mind. Draco didn’t want Harry to see his legs!

“Draco,” he said very gently. “You don’t have to worry. I _want_ to see you – all of you.”

“But _I_ don’t want you to,” Draco replied furiously. “Don’t my feelings count for anything?”

Of course they did! But this wasn’t entirely about Draco’s feelings; this about Harry’s feelings too.

“You need to trust me,” he said. “I need you to know that you can trust me.”

Draco looked like a frighten child as he stared into Harry’s eyes, begging Harry not to do this to him. But Harry wasn’t going to back down. It was now . . . or perhaps maybe never.

“They’re hideous,” Draco choked. “Even _I_ can’t bear to look at them. They’re withered and disgusting. They’re so horrible that I’ve even thought about amputating them just so I don’t have to look at them.”

Harry couldn’t contain the shocked gasp that escaped him.

“You cannot be serious,” he said. “You’d maim yourself like that for no medical reason? Christ, Draco!”

Draco looked away, blushing with shame.

“I don’t want you to see them, Harry,” he whispered after a long moment. “I . . . I can’t lose you.”

Oh, for fuck sake.

Harry got out of the tub and knelt down in front of him.

“You are _not_ going to lose me if you show me your legs,” he said, taking both of Draco’s hands in his. 

Then he swallowed and took a deep breath before finishing his thought.

“But you will if I think you can’t trust me not to hurt you.”

Draco bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling. He was clearly fighting back tears.

“If I do this,” he said once he’d got his voice under control again, “you cannot lie to me. You cannot tell me they’re not hideous. If you lie about this, then I wouldn’t be able to trust you either.”

“I will not lie to you,” Harry said calmly, but sternly. “I love you too much to lie to you.”

Draco looked down again, and his eyes were almost defiant. For a horrible moment, Harry thought Draco was going to say no. Harry didn’t know what would happen next if he did . . .

“Okay.”

Harry’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Harry was shaking when he stood up.

“How . . . how should we do it?”

“Pick me up and put me in the shower chair.”

Draco’s voice sounded defeated. It made Harry want to take back his request. He remembered what Pansy had said about how his heart wouldn’t let him hurt Draco . . . but what if she was wrong?

Harry bent over and lifted Draco slowly and reverently out of his wheelchair and carried him to the tub where he set Draco down on his shower chair. As soon as Harry had helped him settle in, Draco bent his head and covered his face with his hands.

He looked broken.

Harry knew he had to do this quickly. This was not a seduction; it should not be drawn-out teasingly. He knelt down and unknotted the tie at Draco’s waist and carefully pulled off Draco’s pyjama bottoms.

Draco’s legs were very pale because Draco hadn’t let the poor things see the sun in nearly three years. His thighs were smooth, and his shins were dusted with blond downy hair. There was some healthy muscle due to Draco’s relentless exercising, but for the most part, there was little muscle tone and thus little definition. But they were _not_ even remotely withered.

When Harry looked up, he saw that Draco had lifted his face out of his hands. His eyes were dead.

“Can we still be friends?” he asked in a tiny voice.

Harry wanted to slap him and then shake him until Draco stopped being so bloody stupid!

“No,” he said, and Draco flinched. “I want to be lovers.”

“You’re a liar,” Draco said flatly.

“I’ll let that go this one time,” Harry replied. “Draco, love, your legs are fine. They’re a little too pale, and their muscles are less obvious than they’d be if you could move them, but they are _not_ withered, and they are _not_ disgusting. Do they look paralysed? Yes. But they are _not_ hideous. Okay? Are you going to look me in the eyes and call me a liar again?”

Draco bit his lip and searched Harry’s face for something that, judging from his eventual relieved expression, he didn’t find.

“And about your cock and balls?” Harry continued. “They’re fucking gorgeous. They haven’t changed at all. You’re hung like a fucking stallion.”

Draco was clearly trying to bite back a pleased smile and failing utterly.

“Yeah,” he said. “I knew that already.”

He winked at Harry, and Harry laughed.

“You stupid git,” he said and then kissed him long and deep.

“Now,” he said hoarsely when he finally pulled back, “come for me, Malfoy.”

He moved to position himself on his knees with his legs under the shower chair.

“Where?” Draco asked breathlessly.

Harry thought for a moment. There were so many tantalising possibilities. But then he thought of it.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” he said, looking into Draco’s eyes.

Draco made a face. 

“Ugh,” he said. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Merlin, Potter, you are one kinky bastard.”

“And proud of it,” Harry said, grinning.

He placed his hands on Draco’s knees and carefully spread his legs wide enough that he could get close enough to Draco’s cock to be able to take it in his mouth.

It was limp when he first began sucking, but it quickly swelled. Harry groaned and grasped its base, moving his head as Draco wove his fingers into his hair.

“You look so good like that,” he said, making Harry hum with laughter.

Harry sucked him for a long time until he grew worried that Draco wasn’t going to piss and Harry would have to beg again, but then he heard Draco moan with release, and the salty taste of urine flooded his mouth.

“I’m coming,” Draco choked. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming so hard, Harry.”

There was a lot of piss, and it was impossible to swallow it all. Harry felt it trickle down his chin and throat and stomach and between his legs making his cock swell and harden with need.

“Pull off,” Draco gasped. “I want to come on you.”

Harry released Draco’s cock from his mouth, and Draco aimed it at his chest and then right at Harry’s crotch while Harry wanked like crazy, using the piss and his precome for lube. All the while both he and Draco stared at his hand and the urine flowing down his thighs, the crowns of their heads touching and both of then breathless and groaning. Too soon, Harry thrust into his hand and came with a cry.

“Fuck,” Draco said after a moment, and Harry would have echoed him if he’d been able to talk. “That was unbelievably fucking hot.”

Harry could only nod vigorously in complete agreement.

When he could stand, Harry turned on the tap, and they washed themselves between wet sloppy kisses.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered when they’d settled into their bed side-by-side. He brushed Draco’s fringe, still static from the drying charm, off his forehead. “You can’t imagine how much this day has meant to me. Thank you for trusting me.”

“And thank you for not lying to me,” Draco whispered in reply, “although I do have to think of a way to get even with you for tricking me to go to Hyde Park.”

Uh oh. Harry had hoped Draco had forgotten that little detail.

“Slytherins serve their revenges cold.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

Draco arched an eyebrow at him.

“At least I’ll have the perfect wine for whatever it is I’ll think of.”

Harry shook his head and snuggled against his pillow and Draco’s warm body. As long as Draco’s revenge involved handcuffs and blindfolds and blowjobs, he’d be just fine with it.

 

_One year later . . ._

 

On the same day that Draco caught the Snitch, Luna and Neville firecalled to tell them that Luna was pregnant.

“The midwife confirmed it this afternoon,” Luna said dreamily, “but I already knew I was pregnant. The Moon Frogs have been even louder than usual. They’re very tuned into ovulation cycles.

“Er . . .”

Draco poked Harry in the shoulder. Harry turned to look at him, and just as he’d guessed, Draco was grinning and beaming . . . and, oh dear God, preening.

“I can’t believe it!” he said. “It was our first try! The midwife said it could take a year or more!”

“Our gametes are clearly very compatible,” Luna replied.

“Er, your _whats_ . . . ?”

“Ignore Potter,” Draco said. “He actually thought the baby would grow in a cauldron or something. His Muggles never told him about the birds and the bees. He was pretty shocked when he learned the fertilised egg was actually going to be returned to your uterus.”

“Er.”

“My thought exactly,” said Neville, beaming nearly as much as Draco.

“Please do not encourage his ignorance, Longbottom.”

Harry jabbed him in the ribs.

When they’d let it be known that they were looking to adopt a baby, Luna and Neville had approached them about Luna being a surrogate. Neither of them wanted children of their own, but the idea of being limited co-parents appealed to them. Plus, Luna was very excited about the prospect of getting pregnant to test her theory about the Moon Frogs.

“I’m planning to write a book,” she said. “ _Moon Frogs and Menses_.”

“Er.”

“Merlin, Potter! Will you please use polysyllabic words that actually mean something? We’re going to be parents. I do not want my child grunting like a caveman due to your illiterate influences.”

Luna smiled airily. 

“Don’t worry, Draco,” she said. “Harry will be a wonderful father. I noticed that when he goes fishing with Neville he catches a lot of Gulping Plimpies.”

“Er . . .”

“Just go with it,” Draco hissed. “She’s the mother of our child. Just as long as she doesn’t start drinking suspect potions, I’m good with whatever creatures get involved.”

“I’m thinking this is all cause for celebration,” Neville said. “How about you two come over for dinner.”

“I’ll bring the wine,” Draco gushed, but then frowned sternly. “But not for you, Luna.”

Harry rolled his eyes, feeling very thankful that Draco was incapable of knocking him up because his bossy streak was clearly going to reach annoying levels of patronising condescension.

“That’s quite all right,” Luna said, thankfully oblivious to what an arsehole Draco was. “I prefer sparkling water anyway.”

Harry grinned at Draco.

“I think we might have a bottle of Pellegrino stashed away somewhere,” he said, barely hiding his smile when Draco poked him in the shoulder again.

“Lovely,” Neville said. “We’ll see you in about an hour then? And Harry? Better bring your waders. Luna already insists she’s developing a craving for plimpies.” 

“Er . . .”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Draco said, too cheerful for Harry’s liking. Draco was going to be punning about plimpies all evening.

“See you soon,” Neville said and stepped away from his fireplace.

Harry stood and rubbed his creaky knees. They’d flown all bloody afternoon!

“Looking a little aged there, Potter,” Draco said gleefully. “Oh yes, and did I mention that not only am I a stallion with super sperm, I caught the Snitch?”

Harry groaned. It was going to be a long nine months.

“Am I going to have to listen to you brag about your spunk for the better half of a year?”

“Probably,” Draco said. He pulled the Snitch from the pouch attached to the backrest of his wheelchair and breathed on it before shining it on his sleeve.

Harry started to worry that he might strangle him before they even got to Luna and Neville’s house . . . but then he got a brilliant idea.

“How about sharing some of that super spunk with me,” he purred, leaning down to whisper in Draco’s ear.

His words had the desired effect when Draco’s breath caught and he stopped shining the Snitch.

“Mmmm, I think that could be arranged,” he said. “What did you have in mind, you hopeless kinkster, you.”

So many choices and only one hour. They’d fucked the night before, but Harry could never get enough of having Draco piss in his arse. Or what about Draco’s new fetish for having Harry piss on _him_? And of course there was the always-satisfying wank while watching Draco’s lap fill with urine . . . Mmmm.

“Time’s ticking,” Draco said, looking meaningfully at his watch.

Harry grinned as lascivious a grin as he was capable of. He leaned down to whisper in Draco’s ear, making Draco shiver.

“I’ll do anything,” he said. “As long as you’ll come for me.”


End file.
